Both Hands
by ObsessedRomantic
Summary: First in a new S2 AU called Townwood Drive. Ryan's just hoping to get through the new year and his new schedule without any girl-trouble. Then he meets Taylor Townsend. RT, mention of SS.
1. One

**BOTH HANDS **

**Disclaimer: ** They're mine, mine I tell……they're not? Well, darn. Not making money, just hoping for some feedback.

**Summary: **First in a new, season two AU I'm calling Townwood Drive. Ryan's just hoping to get through his new schedule and the new year without any girl drama. Then he meets Taylor Townsend.

**A/N: **Feel free to blame Waltzy for this one, guys. I was trying to get her to write this story for me (totally as a single story, maybe even a one-shot) and she said she was too busy.

So kudos to her for making me do this and to Lori for helping get me started. Thanks, ladies.

--xxx--

It was the beginning to a really great year.

If you were Caleb Nichol.

This is why I don't believe in God, or Karma, or luck, I groused to myself. If there was anything to those beliefs; then the old bastard would be long dead, or under investigation for corruption: something. If there was any justice at all, I'd be spending tonight putting together the baby's crib instead of driving around, trying to cool my temper.

I let the car have its head, not really caring where I wound up, trying to empty my head of Cal's poison. He'd started with the same old song and dance about my 'ungrateful sponging' off his family. Like I owed him anything. It was Kirsten and Sandy that had taking me in, it was their generosity and understanding that made their house my home. When he brought up my 'abandonment' of Theresa, though…..

I had to bail, and that's what had hurt the most.

If things were like before, I wouldn't be out here, threading the Rover through Chino's familiar streets. I wouldn't be trying to forget the way they'd avoided my eyes, the way they hadn't leapt to my defense when the old man had started his ranting. The way they'd just let me go; not even Seth chasing after me like he usually did. It felt like the only reason I'd been welcomed (aside from bringing their **real** son home) was that they were under legal obligation to take care of me. For a couple more years, at least.

Stopping at a Bodega for a drink, I decided against my unconscious decision to try and see Theresa. She'd be going through enough, right now; she didn't need me coming around and reminding her of her loss. After all the shit I'd put her through, the least I could do was let her piece her life back together. As if my thoughts had summoned the girl, I turned from the cooler to see her coming down the aisle. Frozen in place, my eyes narrowed as I saw what she was putting into the shopping basket. My blood began to boil for the second time that night, seeing the familiar label on the cans.

Cans (among other things) I'd built a cabinet in the kitchen to hold.

Cans she should have _**no business**_ buying.

Cans of baby formula.

Almost, I called out to her. Seeing her mother join her in the aisle, though, changed my mind. Yelling at Theresa I could justify (it would feel **so** good, to be able to yell at someone who deserved it), but I couldn't bring myself to act the ass in front of Paloma. The woman had been my safe harbor for far too long for me to risk her good opinion with a public screaming match between me and her daughter. I went around the aisle, planning on paying for my soda and leaving; when I saw Theresa headed for the bathroom.

Perfect.

''Ryan.'' Paloma looked at me without a trace of guilt, her brown eyes calmly surprised and sharp as a tack. She blushed, a little, when I gripped the edge of the basket, flicking my eyes downwards to the contents, then back up to question her with my gaze. She'd known, then; about the lie. She knew that her daughter was still pregnant. ''It's not your child, Ryan. The doctor said she was too far along for it to be your baby.'' I continued to frown at her, uncaring of the side issue. _Whose_ child it was had never been the point, after all. I'd left the Cohens to take care of my friend, to provide the support she needed to give this kid the kind of life it deserved. ''It is for the best, querido.'' She patted my cheek, pulling the basket from my loosening grip. ''I know it doesn't seem like it, but this is all for the best.''

For the best.

Why did people always **say** that when they were screwing you over, lying to you; twisting your life around until you couldn't tell which way was up or down?

Which way was wrong or right?

I practically slammed my way out of the store, forgetting that I hadn't paid for the bottle of soda yet. I was halfway down the street, still fuming; when I remembered. Catching sight of my face in the rearview, I realized why no one had bothered to stop me. They were probably afraid of me, of what I'd do; should they approach me. Rather than try to reign it in; this time, I reveled in it.

I wanted to be dangerous, wanted to be bad. I'd spent a summer trying to be the man Theresa needed. I'd spent all last year trying to be the good son (for Kirsten), the strong brother (for Seth, for Trey), the perfect boyfriend (for Marissa), the studious example (for Sandy) of how people's preconceptions could be wrong. Everything** I** wanted was pushed aside to make way for other people's desires, and no one even fucking _noticed_. Hell, the only person who'd asked what I wanted since the Oliver incident had been Miss Fischer. A school official was showing more of an interest in what I was really thinking than any of my family or friends.

Briefly, I considered not taking the exit for Newport; continuing on down the freeway and making my way to Texas. Common sense reasserted itself, telling me I wouldn't get out of the state before the cops pulled me over. That, and thinking of the disappointment on the faces of three people I cared about (even if they no longer cared about me) was too painful to contemplate. Besides, did I really want to give Cal the satisfaction?

Neon glinted, off to my right, and I pulled onto the numbered street, following the bright flare, the increasing noise level.

For a good fifteen minutes, I sat in the Rover in the bar's parking lot, thinking. All the arguments against doing this were strong. It was a school night, I'm underage, I could end up arrested or in the hospital……… I ignored them all. For once, I was going to do what **I** wanted, however stupid it was. Getting out and securing the vehicle, I headed for the door to 'Moe's' and tried not to think about how much I was acting like Trey.

No one was checking the door, no one was taking a cover charge; it wasn't that kind of place. A juke box, several booths, the long bar, and three pool tables furnished the warehouse-like space; with beer advertisements thrown up on the walls as 'décor'. I was surprised to find this kind of joint in Newport, actually. If I had any doubts about where I was, though; the bartender's uncaring demeanor (and lack of requests for my id) as he handed me a bottled beer settled that question. Even in Chino, they made a show of checking your age. Sometimes your 'driver's license' had Jackson's or Grant's face on it, but they still _asked_. Only in Orange County did they not bother with even the pretense of staying legal.

I'd forgotten how much I missed this, just hanging out and letting go. Speaking of letting go, one of the waitresses brushed up against me as she passed, throwing me a definite wink. I'd forgotten that, too; how many girls tended to hit on me, when I was at a place like this. I'd have to watch it, or someone's boyfriend would take exception and try to rearrange my face. Since I didn't have anyone to watch my back, that could be a definite problem. The woman brushed by me again, and this time I couldn't chalk up my lack of reaction to surprise.

Too soon.

Too soon after finding out my oldest, most trusted friend (that I'd sacrificed everything for) had lied to me. Too soon after discovering that the girl who'd called me (she'd stopped talking, but I knew it was her) every night, all summer long; had moved on from our 'love' (how quickly, I didn't want to know) and then lied to me about it. So D.J. worked for her parents, so what? Was I that much of an ass, that she'd thought I'd tell; just to spite her? She knew me better than that, or she did. She should. I didn't know what bothered me more: that she'd replaced me so easily, or that she'd let me think we were still an item.

Yeah, not a good mood to go looking for a one-night-stand in.

Hell, at least the beer was good.

I ordered another and, one snide comment about some guy's pool-playing ability later; I was sinking the eight-ball to the shock (of my opponents) and amusement (of the rest of the bar). We settled down to play for some serious money, with me resisting the urge to hustle all their wallets dry. They were doing bad enough without my showing off, and I really didn't feel like getting into a fight. With that in mind, I stopped playing after five games. Just enough money to pay for the beers and drop a little extra on that waitress' tray; leaving me with about three hundred dollars. Tempting as it was to increase the amount, I did have school the next day, and there was still the drive home.

There was a machine by the entrance selling mints (mostly Altoids) which told me I wasn't the first teenager to wander into this place. I'd definitely have to keep Moe's in mind, next time I needed cheering up. I felt better, free-er, than I had in months. Like I'd finally taken off the straight jacket or something. Doing what I wanted; it didn't have to end up bad, not if I was careful.

Not if I was smart.

''Hey, kid.'' Great. I'd assumed the light in the pool house was Seth, wanting to talk about the Summer situations; but I'd been wrong. It was Sandy. I braced myself for the lecture, knowing better than to admit to anything before he brought the charges to bear. ''Seth told us about Theresa.'' How the fuck had …… Oh. He meant the 'miscarriage'. Almost, I told him the truth; but the strained sympathy on his face just pissed me off. ''I'm so sorry, Ryan. It's a terrible thing, losing a child.''

Where was this concern when I'd come 'home' so unexpectedly? Where was his sympathy when his father-in-law was verbally ripping me to shreds?

He'd once said that it was cruel to offer me hope, then take it away. He'd been talking about taking me in, making me a part of the family. It had been a dream come true, and I'd clung to the dream all summer long. I'd believed that I had value, that I had a place here, with them; even if I was living somewhere else. I'd believed Sandy and Kirsten when they said that I'd always have a place, a home; that they were my family.

**Now** I didn't know what to believe.

It kept shifting between feeling like family (moments in the kitchen, the hug when we'd come in from Portland) to feeling like an obligation, a burden (their discomfort, the uneasy way they looked at me). It felt wrong, off; never more so than now.

Because, instead of sitting me down and forcing a confession from me; instead of noticing the stale smoke and beer smell that clung to my clothes: my foster father just clapped me on the shoulder and told me to come to him if I ever needed anything.

Then he was gone, back into the main house.

He hadn't even asked me if I remembered to fill up the gas tank, or where I'd been.

I sat down on the bed, staring into space; wondering if I'd imagined everything from last year, imagined the people trusting me, imagined the affection that connected us. I couldn't have, right? My imagination wasn't that good, so it **had** to have been real. It had obviously changed, though; all because of a baby and the decisions I'd made to take care of it and its mother. Decisions now shown to be unnecessary and unappreciated.

I lay back on the mattress, fully clothed; feeling more lost and alone than I ever had before. I had no clue what to do next, no idea how to restore people's trust in me, not that I had any desire to trust them and be lied to again. It was all falling apart around me, like that line from last year's Literature class.

Things fall apart, the center will not hold.


	2. Two

**A/N: ** Okay, so this chapter is gonna be from Taylor's POV; hope it doesn't suck.

Also – thanks again to Lori and Waltzy for helping me get the ball rolling on this story.

--xxx--

This year would be different.

Okay, I told myself that **every** year, but this time I really, really meant it.

It was my junior year; time to get up off my butt and do something about my lack of popularity and inability to get any credit for the work I did in social committee where Marissa Cooper wasn't _quite_ the angel **or** the genius everyone thought she was. I mean, did they **really think** she had time to plan parties and arrange bands and hire caterers when she was busy taking drugs and dating hooligans and shoplifting and hanging out with gun-toting lunatics? I was going to go into this morning's meeting and tell her…..

I was going to go into the meeting and fold, just like I did every time I saw her.

Annoying as it was, I knew that I was too scared of the possible repercussions to stand up to the girl. She was just too socially powerful, and I really didn't want to make her angry. One or two well-placed words, and my life would be even more miserable than it already was. Harbor's rumor mill had ground up stronger people than me: people with **friends,** people who were popular and well-liked. Look what had happened to Luke, and his _father _was the one the gossip had been focused on; the poor boy had just been collateral damage. So much so, that he was now living in Portland.

I didn't want to move to a whole other state (especially one with Oregon's excessive annual rainfall) just to get away from the whispering. Actually, come to think of it; whispering would be a nice change of pace from the current snide (not very sotto-voiced) comments, the unfriendly yells and cutting observations about my appearance. Pushing aside that train of thought, I pulled around the last corner to enter the parking lot, spotting a good space about halfway down the next row. Just focus on the class work, I coached myself, catching my own eye in the rearview. I firmed my gaze, willing belief in to the soft (weak, pathetic) hazel orbs. Watch and wait, I coached myself; an opportunity will come along and ……..

…….a large darkness …….moving towards me……..

……the sharp squeal of tires…………

…….my foot throbbed from slamming on the brakes……

…….the jolt of the wheel under my hands………

''Oh my God.'' Staring, I saw the left front fender of my car (my brand-new, shiny blue car!) dented in where the right front corner of this huge black SUV was touching it. Resisting the urge to scream, I scrambled out of the vehicle, running around to survey the damage. The other driver, a blonde boy I'd never seen before (although he was hot, and did seem a little familiar) came around his Rover, doing the same thing I was. I whirled on him, panicking at the thought of what my mother was going to say about this. She might even take my car away, leaving me stranded at her house because I didn't have any friends and therefore no one to ask for rides and I didn't want to spend my whole allowance on cab fare. ''Look what you did!'' Just the thought of having to spend _every single night_ under that roof made me furious.

''What I did?'' The boy actually looked like I was being unreasonable, eyes flicking over me in that way that boys had when they were assessing your physique.

''Hey! Eyes up **here**, mister!'' They usually stuttered and became very defensively apologetic when you called them on their naughtiness.

''Believe me, not a problem.'' Except this one, apparently. I crossed my arms over my chest, implying that I didn't trust his self-control. Revenge for him saying that about not having a problem keeping his gaze on my face. Did he mean that I wasn't attractive, or that he was just angry?

Focus, Taylor; I scolded myself silently. Don't let him get the upper hand.

''You'd better have a good story ready for your parents, because I am **not** paying to fix that.'' I waved a hand at the crumbled bumper, the indentation in his car's fender. ''It was **your** fault, you should pay.'' He gaped at me, either because he didn't understand (likely, I think he played a sport of some kind) or because he couldn't believe I wasn't going to take the blame for this.

''**My** fault?'' Disbelief rang heavy in his tone, he actually stepped closer; the better to loom over me, I suppose. Idiot. Only my mother and Marissa had the power to intimidate me, he didn't stand a chance. Although ……..his eyes **were **very, very blue. ''You were the one not looking where you were going!'' Okay, true; but that didn't make it my _fault._ He should totally have been a gentleman and yielded the space to me.

''You were the one trying to drive me off the road so you could have **my** parking space!'' I gave him a glare, letting him know that I wasn't going to back down. He was just going to have to drive away and find some sob story to explain to his folks (who probably spoiled him rotten) about why his car had a boo-boo.

Oh, and pay to fix my vehicle; preferably before my mother found out.

''You were going the wrong way!'' He pointed towards the end of the row of cars, where the little arrows were painted on the asphalt. I'd always thought of those as decoration, not an actual traffic guide; and said so. The boy rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath.

''Ryan, man; we're gonna be late for class.'' There'd been another boy in the SUV, this on about a foot taller with a shaggy mop of black hair and friendly brown eyes. He smiled at me (without giving me the demeaning once-over) and turned his attention back to his brother? Friend? ''Just let her have the parking space if she wants it so much.'' I shot a victorious smile at my opponent, smirking a little at his obvious shock. ''It's not that important, just a couple of dings; no big.''

''Fine.'' Anger bit off his tone, but he seemed to deflate a little, shifting his attention from me to the taller boy. ''Fine. I'll park, you get going.'' He climbed back into his vehicle, pulling carefully back out into traffic. Something about him seemed sad, all of a sudden; but I wanted to focus more on the other (in my opinion, better) example of a male student body.

''Thank you, he was being so mean and scary.'' I put my hand on the nice boy's arm, feeling a thrill when he didn't move away. In fact, he smiled at me **again**; shaking his head as if I'd said something funny.

''He's not actually like that, he just has issues with responsibility.'' He indicated the dent in my fender with a wave of one long-fingered hand. He was actually quite attractive, if one took the time to look. ''Kind of like Spider-man.'' Clever, too; he was shaping up quite nicely, potential-wise.

''With great power……'' I laughed, squeezing his arm lightly to let him know it wasn't at him. It had to be kismet, that we were both into graphic novels. How many other students at Harbor were fans of the genre? Maybe he'd want to start our own, **private** comic book club. That way, I wouldn't have to share him with anyone else; least of all Zach Stevens. ''I guess that means he'll pay to fix my car, right?''

''More like he'll come fix it himself.'' I jumped, dropping my hand from his arm at the sound of the first bell. His friend (or whomever) was jogging across the parking lot towards us. I got into my car and finished pulling into the space; easier without some Neanderthal crowding me. I went back to talk with the nice boy, just as the blonde (he was fit, I'd give him that – barely out of breath from his rushing over) caught up to us.

''So you can come after school and fix the car.'' I instructed him, turning (dismissing him so blatantly even _**he**_ should pick up on it) to the taller boy with a friendly smile as we started walking. ''We can talk and get to know each other, maybe get some coffee.'' The other boy had disbelief on his face again, this time, I'd bet; because I was paying attention to his friend and not to him. Not everyone likes muscle-monkeys, I wanted to tell him. Some of us prefer the more genteel type. ''Say, around five?'' That should just give me time to spruce up after my last class; now I just had to break off and hunt down information on just who this wonderful guy **was**.

''Oh, Ryan's not much for talking; but I'm sure the coffee's a good idea. You two have fun, now!'' No, not him, I wanted to shout; you! I stopped dead, trading a look of horror with 'Ryan' as the boy I'd **intended** the invitation for jogged up the stairs to the administration building.

''_Right_. Ryan.'' I turned my back on the blonde, unwilling to spend one more minute talking to someone who went around crashing into other people's cars and then refused to admit he was wrong. Turning the corner, I noticed that he was watching me walk away. More specifically, a certain portion of my anatomy walk away. ''I **swear**.'' Now I was _**stalking**_ down the hall, irritated as much by his blatant lack of manners as his obvious lack of intelligence. Not that his friend was all that much smarter (however cute he was) misunderstanding me like he had. ''The boys at this school get dumber every year.''


	3. Three

**A/N: **Back to Ryan for this one. Hope I can keep up with everyone's expectations.

--xxx--

The day was balancing out, all things considered.

I'd overheard Sandy and Kirsten talking, that morning, about him not wanting to lose his temper; but the next time I came home from a **bar** on a _school night_, he wouldn't be responsible for his choice of words. Well, it was nice to know that he **had** noticed, that there was a reason for the lack of a lecture. It was also kind of reassuring to know that my guardian insisted on being in control of himself before he was willing to discipline my behavior. I'd known he wasn't a violent man, but there'd always been that kernel of fear; that someday, I'd push him too far and he'd lose it. Every other man I'd ever known had a breaking point, after all.

What was that saying, again?

Right. 'The exception that proves the rule'. Sandy was certainly that. I resolved to only visit Moe's during the weekend. Just because I was now doing things** I** wanted to do, being selfish; didn't mean I had to be a shit-head about it.

That, and the money I could win on the weekends would be better, increasing the amount I was sending Paloma (for the baby) on the sly. How she explained the influx of funds to her daughter was her look-out; penalty for not letting me be a father to this kid. She hadn't asked for money, when I'd called, early this morning; but the tight nature of her voice as she spoke of the status of her family told me all I needed to know. I transferred the bank account from this summer's construction job into her name, kissing the idea of buying my own car (with my **own** money) goodbye. If money was all I was going to be allowed to contribute to little whomever, then there was gonna be some heavy cash flowing in. At least now I wouldn't have to empty the spending account the Cohens had given me. I could send her the winnings from playing pool (without telling her, of course; the woman had some strange ideas about what was and wasn't 'good' money) and leave the other funds untouched.

Bonus: my lack of interest in matters financial were probably giving Cal fits.

Another good point was when Seth had explained that the family was 'giving me space', letting me grieve and come to terms with things in my own way. I'd been about to tell him about the whole Theresa mess (my only regret to the truth coming out being that his grandfather would jump on my back again) when we'd literally run into the craziest girl I'd ever met.

Taylor Townsend, he said her name was. Must be Newport-speak for 'lunatic with a fine ass' or something. Standing there, resisting the urge to shake some sense into her; it was harder than it should have been to keep my eyes on her face. With the way she treated me (combination of servant and retarded dog), it should've been easier to forget the curve of her lips, the taught fitness of her body, the sparkle in her hazel eyes that showed more going on upstairs than any ten (or twenty, really) of the other girls around here. Her mouth made me want to throw her up against the nearest wall and prove that at least **some** of the rumors about 'the kid from Chino' were true.

What came **out** of her mouth, however; made me want to get her a gag.

Better yet, a muzzle.

I shook my head, trying to get rid of the image of the girl naked; hands bound over her head with leather straps, writhing beneath me in desperate pleasure.

This is why you should've gone for the waitress, I scolded myself, trying to think of ice and penguins and shit like that. First hot piece that comes along, and you're drooling like an idiot just because you haven't been laid in over six months.

I hesitated before the door to my last class, wishing I dared skip it. I didn't need the mark on my record, though; and it **was** the only down-side to my new schedule. Miss Fischer had even apologized for it, saying that this was the only elective with an opening. I would've been happy with a study hall, but that wasn't an option, apparently. At least my other classes hadn't been as difficult as I'd feared. I'd always been good with numbers (thanks to Dawn, oddly enough), and the unchanging certainty of the scientific process was comforting in the fluctuating mess that was my life.

That said, there was still no way in **Hell **that Seth could **ever** find out I was taking this class.

_Home Economics_ the door declared, spelling my doom; and I took a deep, bracing breath before turning the knob and stepping inside.

_**Fuck**_.

It was worse than I thought.

Every single other person in the room, every _single one_; was female.

''Can I help you?'' The only way to tell that this was the teacher was that she was older; because she was dressed just as casually (and looked just as fit) as her students. I wanted to explain that there **was** no help for me, that I was pretty much screwed; but I couldn't force the words past the lock on my throat, brought on by the hungry way most of the room was staring at me. ''Are you lost?'' I shook my head, wordlessly handing out the last of the transfer slips Miss Fischer had given me. Miss Harrison nodded, leading me towards one of the mini-kitchens that lined the room's walls. At least they aren't pink, was the only coherent thought I could form; trailing after her in a resigned daze. There were the standards stools, the place basically looked like they'd just taken a biology classroom and altered it a bit. ''Class, this is Ryan Atwood; he's transferring in.'' The whispers (predictably enough) started, gaining an edge of irritation when we reached the only empty seat. ''Ryan, this is your lab partner.''

Oh no, oh **fuck** no.

Atwood luck (the only kind I believed in) had struck again.

''Taylor Townsend.'' She held out her hand, and I forced myself to shake it; wishing I hadn't quit smoking, so I could at least have a cigarette before the end.

If there **was** a God, it appeared that he hated me.


	4. Four

**A/N: **Okay, hope I don't confuse anyone by not saying who this chapter's from. I'll go back to id-ing them if someone gets lost.

Oh, and this one's for Book, b/c she's not feeling well.

--xxx--

It was official. God hated me.

Why else would the rude boy from this morning's little misunderstanding be in **this** class, assigned as **my** partner, staring at me like someone had just hit him in the forehead with one of those reflex hammers?

''Taylor Townsend.'' I stuck my hand out, introducing myself with false enthusiasm. Veronica always said that if you wanted to control the conversation, you needed to make the first move. Besides, I hadn't been able to overhear anything about him (or, more importantly, his nicer friend); so that left direct contact as my only source of information.

''Hey.'' He shook my hand politely enough, settling in on the empty stool and avoiding my gaze. It certainly made a nice change from his earlier lewd staring. Possibly he was afraid of being caught in the act when he was so _vastly_ outnumbered.

Miss Harrison returned to the front of the class, going through the safety lecture she'd done the first day one more time. We'd already had three small fires that had, luckily, only claimed the contents of the pans, the pans themselves, and one dishcloth. I looked over to see if he was laughing (most boys did, when they found out their girlfriends were in this class) and saw that he was, in fact, _**yawning**_. I poked him in the shoulder, frowning, tapping his un-opened book when he glared at me. Our teacher dismissed us to familiarize ourselves with the contents and lay-out of our mini-kitchens (again, emphasizing the placement of the fire extinguishers – not that it had helped, the previous times); which basically meant the room was now free to gossip and giggle.

''Pay attention, Ryan Atwood.'' I scolded him, turning the page in my own book to set a good example. ''I'm not getting a failing grade because **you** think all this 'girl stuff' is beneath you.'' He snorted, but he opened his book. When he tilted his head to look at me, I braced myself for the typical 'male superiority' drivel.

''I can cook. Simple stuff, but I do better than people who only set foot in their kitchens to yell at the staff or get more booze.'' I flushed, but he didn't really seem to be including **me** in that little patronization, oddly enough. Unconsciously, he'd just given a nail-on-the-head description of my mother. Reminding myself that _**he **_was the reason my Mustang now had a dimple, I flipped to the future chapters to demonstrate the true complexity of what we were here to learn.

''It's more than just cooking, you know. Household budgets, child care;'' Now why would that make him flinch? ''things to teach us how to be responsible and mature.'' Ryan snorted again, this time in disbelief as well as amusement. I didn't see what was so funny; this was serious business. People who didn't know how to handle simple things like this were at the mercy of those who **did** and very few people, these days had anything close to mercy.

My mother was certainly a prime example of that. I thought it would be wonderful, having her gone more often, now that I was sixteen. She'd been threatening to do it ever since I hit puberty, and I'd counted the days with eager anticipation. Then she'd told me I'd be responsible for the house, while she was gone: paying the bills, ordering the groceries, _everything_. Luckily, I'd been under the wing of our maid, Olivia, since I could walk and she was helping me get a handle on things. This class, though; would enable me to do it myself and free **her** up to take care of the mountain of duties (both job and family related) that she already had piled onto her plate.

''What would these Newpsies-in-training know about responsibility?'' My partner muttered, staring into space as he turned the pages of his book unseeingly. Again, I was struck by an air of dejection, of sorrow, about the boy.

Something about the term he'd used was familiar, though. I gazed blindly into the pages of my own book, trying to place it. The problem with the social events Veronica dragged me to was that they all started to blur together, after a while. I closed my eyes, letting my mind wander as I tried to remember where I'd heard 'Newpsie' before.

Hiding behind the fichus, watching the people go by and wishing I had the nerve to talk to someone, anyone. A man, wearing a rumpled suit that looked off-rack; telling his **far** more stylish wife that he'd had enough of the 'Newpsies' shameless gossip-mongering. She'd agreed, and they'd left; and I'd wondered why the Cohens had even come to the party. With their son (Seth, the nice boy must be Seth Cohen!) having run off, and their ward mixed up in some girl's pregnancy; they weren't really in the position (or the mood, obviously) to mingle.

''Oh my God!'' I kept my voice down with an effort, staring at the boy, at **Ryan**, with eyes huge in shock and dismay. ''You're Ryan Atwood!'' My mother could never find out, I decided. If she ever got wind that my Home Ec partner was the Cohen's 'juvenile delinquent'; she'd throw some kind of humiliating fit with the school's administration and I'd have to fake having strep or something until the next scandal hit to get any peace from the rest of the student body.

''Yeah, and you're Taylor Townsend.'' He appeared confused, I guess he really **didn't** pay that much attention to how people talked about him, or what they said.

I wish I knew what that was like.

''What happened? I thought you left to take care…..'' Horror filled me as he dropped his vivid blue gaze back to his book and I put an automatic hand on his arm. There could only be **one** reason why he'd come back so suddenly, why the Cohens hadn't celebrated his return. ''I'm sorry.''

''It's okay.'' He seemed appreciative of my sympathy, though. I watched him fiddle with the book again, a sudden thought made me smile. Inappropriately, I thought; but he didn't seem offended. ''What?''

''I was just thinking: this class is probably going to be very boring for you.'' A particularly loud burst of giggling punctuated my remark, making both of us wince at the piercing volume of it. Ryan smirked, rubbing the back of his neck, which was turning the faintest shade of red as some of the other girls' statements became audible. I nearly didn't catch his mumbled comment in the plethora of overheard 'so hot's and 'such a hunk's.

''Don't I wish.''


	5. Five

**A/N: ** Finally! Dang, I thought I'd never get this chapter done.

Welcome back, Waltzy; btw. :P

--xxx--

The last bell had never sounded so sweet.

I closed my eyes, lowering my head (resisting the urge to slam it repeatedly onto the counter) into my folded arms for some much-needed peace. There had to be a way **out **of this class, there just **had** to. The girls had flirted, giggled, and gossiped (making sure I overheard every thing they said); which was bad enough. Soon, though; they'd start making their 'moves', trying to get me alone or attempting to persuade Miss Harrison they needed to switch partners with Taylor. I had too much self-respect (damnit) to let them pass me around like candy, so I had to say 'no' to all of them. If I said 'yes' to even **one**, all hell would break loose. Not that **that** meant things weren't still going to suck; because when I started with the brush-offs, they'd only try harder, and it would only be a matter of time before they turned on each other.

An _entire_ _room_ full of scheming mini-Newpsies.

For the first time, I missed Chino.

At least **there,** I had a chance in hell of coming out of this kind of thing (multiple girls coming after me, most probably had boyfriends) with my sanity (and my nuts) intact.

''Come on, Ryan Atwood.'' A sharp finger poked my shoulder, and I raised my head to regard the one girl who **hadn't** been smirking at me for the past hour. ''Time for you to fix my car, unless you've got an extra-curricular; which means I'll have to wait until after that, and that's completely fine; but I was kind of hoping you could get it done before my mother got a look at it and started lecturing…….''

''Now is good.'' The (minimal) damage to her car** was** _barely_ my fault, but I guess I owed her for not ogling me throughout the class. When I'd given Seth the keys at lunch, he'd agreed to come right home after Lit Mag; thereby increasing my chances of fixing both vehicles before the Cohens found out. Things were gonna be stressful enough when I told them what Theresa'd done, I didn't need to add in a (however minor) car accident. ''Gotta stop at my locker.'' She smiled politely and nodded, shocking me by stopping at a locker not three feet from mine to get her own homework materials. How had I missed noticing her before?

Of course, given how many of the girls around here were stone foxes, maybe it wasn't so surprising I hadn't spotted the hottie (falling into step with me on the way to her car) before now.

''We're not leaving Seth stranded, are we?'' She looked around, like she was expecting my brother to come running up at any moment. Her eager expression made me sick to my stomach for some reason. Taylor wrinkled her nose at me, settling her purse more securely over one shoulder. ''I mean, we could always wait; I wouldn't want him to have ask his parents for a ride just so you can avoid getting into trouble.''

''He's got the keys to the Rover.'' I gritted out past teeth clenched in irritation, wondering why I couldn't have dimpled the fender of some other, less annoying, girl's vehicle. Like, say; Holly Fisher. Hell, I would even have been better off damaging Principal Kim's ride.

''Oh.'' I **had** to be imagining the disappointment in her voice. Seth just didn't _attract_ girls this quickly. Usually they (meaning Anna or Summer) took a few hours to get to know him before they decided he was 'cute'. Something else had to be going on, right? ''Well, I suppose I can trust you to behave?'' Now she sounded doubtful, eyeing me with obvious suspicion. ''Maybe we should wait. I'm not sure it's entirely safe; just the two of us, alone in my car.'' It wasn't, and not just because of the car-sex fantasies chasing their way through my brain.

There was a good possibility I'd strangle her before we reached the Cohen's place.

''The way you drive,** I** should be the one protesting.'' She glared, I smirked; she huffed her offense and unlocked her car with a _chirp_ of her keychain. Climbing into the passenger side, I made a show of making sure my seatbelt was securely fastened before I closed the door; swallowing 'nervously' as I did so. Her jaw worked as she secured her own seatbelt and I tried to keep a straight face as she shifted briefly into drive, too irritated with me to remember that she had to back out first.

Aside from the need to give directions, we didn't speak again until we reached the house.

''Shit.'' Caleb's Benz was sitting at the end of the driveway. I could feel every nerve in my body winding tighter and tighter in dread. There was no movement from the vehicle as we pulled past it and in, which meant the old bastard was probably already inside. He had an annoying habit (I'd heard Sandy and Kirsten gripe about it, but neither tried to stop him) of just letting himself in whenever he pleased , which is why I'd altered the locks on the pool house (last night) so only **my** key (altered the same way) could open the door. I wondered what he was after this time. Last night's little encounter was enough to last **me** for months, but maybe he'd come by for an actual business reason rather than the amusement he gained from torturing me or messing with our (Cohens plus one, as Seth put it) minds.

Man had a serious need to find a hobby.

''Something's wrong.'' Taylor frowned at me as she put the Mustang into park and clicked the engine off. I thought, for a moment, that she was being insightful; but then she went on with: ''Are you sure you can fix my car? I don't want to involve the insurance companies or a mechanic; but if you can't do it, now is the time to say so.''

''Just gotta find the tools.'' I snapped at her, climbing out with a sour, depressed feeling. Couldn't **one** thing go right or, if not right, at least smooth? I yanked open the garage, tossing my satchel into the corner. Homework later, time to get the smoking bitch's car repaired so she could leave; preferably before meeting Cal. Irritating as she was, I wouldn't wish that guy on my worst enemy.

Well, maybe on Eddie.

''Do you even know what you're doing, Ryan Atwood?'' I rolled my eyes (what was with using my full name all the time?), moving one of Sandy's surfboards aside so I could check the boxes behind it. I knew the thing was in here somewhere; I'd seen it when I was helping clean up after the contractors. Something (probably ordered from Sharper Image) that basically evened out little dings like this. It had a really stupid name ('ding-whammy' I think) but it worked. ''Maybe I should go to a mechanic after all.'' I turned to face her, frowning at the semi-familiar look on her face. When I recognized the expression, my frown became a scowl.

''You think I'm stupid.'' It was the same expression Doctor Kim had had, back when I was fighting my way into Harbor. I'd enjoyed wiping it from her face with my test score (and my midterm grades, not to mention the year's ending GPA), but I didn't care what this sultry little snob thought of me.

Seriously. Didn't care one bit.

My stomach was just tight over the chance of running into Cal, that's all.

''Well, God doesn't give with both hands, you know.'' She crossed her arms over her chest, looking me over and then glancing away with a slight pink tint to her face. Blushing. I couldn't remember the last girl who'd blushed around me; not even Marissa had blushed, not even when we were caught making out by Kirsten.

Thinking of my ex was painful, so I turned back to the hunt for the repair kit.

''You must be the exception, then.'' There was a shocked quality to her reaction to my offhand (only slightly teasing) remark. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that her blush (so adorable) was stronger; and she appeared to be checking herself out to see if she could spot what I was talking about. It was weird, but I got the feeling she didn't have a whole lot of experience with compliments. I was working my way through the boxes on the far side of the garage, hoping I wouldn't have to dig too deep; when she broke the semi-comfortable silence.

''Can I ask you something?'' I nodded, distracted into giving permission by my search. Besides, she was probably gonna ask how I ended up in Home Ec or something like that. ''Why did you leave the girl you left the Cohens for?'' Or not. ''I mean, you seem really responsible, Ryan Atwood; fixing my car and everything. It doesn't fit consistently with your behavior in abandoning a girl who'd just lost her child.''

I froze, blinking at the back of the garage; seeing the pock-marks in the cement walls with heightened clarity.

It wasn't that the question pissed me off, exactly. Although, who was _**she**_ to be asking me something so personal? No, it was that Taylor, a complete and total stranger; was the first person to ask me about what had happened with Theresa. Seth had just kind of been there when I first got the news, when I was too shocked to do damage control. I'd locked down my reaction fairly quick; feeling like a scumbag for the speed with which I buried the pain. He hadn't noticed anything strange about that, and hadn't brought the matter up since; which made me feel ever more like a shit-heel. Even after last night's revelations, I still couldn't get past the unexpected distance between me and everyone else. So they were giving me 'space'; most likely thinking I'd bolt if anyone mentioned anything more emotionally charged than whether or not I had homework. I was depressed and hurt at their low expectations; but more pissed that this girl (who I'd only known a few hours) was the only person to give me the benefit of a doubt about my handling of the whole mess.

Even if she **did** think I was an idiot, she at least gave me credit for standing up to my responsibilities.

''She lied.'' Kicking the punching bag (lying propped among the boxes) not only made me feel better, it also revealed the 'ding-whammy' when it settled into its new, post-kicked, position. I started tugging at the box, trying to lever it out without moving the others. ''Theresa lied about the miscarriage.'' I didn't want to go into the reasons_** why**_ (that the baby wasn't mine, that she wanted me to return to Newport and my future here); if only because I didn't really **understand** her reasoning. I certainly couldn't explain it in the detail this sexy little thing (whose life had gone perfectly according to some plan since kindergarten, I'd bet) would want to know. Her lack of response was confusing. I turned towards her as I yanked the repair kit free and nearly dropped the box on my foot when I saw who was standing beside her; smiling his smug devil's smile. ''Caleb.''

--xxx--

_tbc_


	6. Six

**A/N: **Picks up the same moment last chapter left off. Hope it's not too rushed. (bites nails)

--xxx--

''Don't let me interrupt.'' Mr Nichol's tone was the same one Veronica used when she was about to cut into whatever unfortunate (usually me) had attracted her attention. I bit my lip and resolved to stay quiet, to remain on the sidelines of this little domestic dispute. ''I'd love to hear the details on your latest scheme to con more money out of my family.'' Ryan glanced briefly my way, the anger, embarrassment, and pain clear in his vivid blue eyes (along with a depressed resignation) before he dropped his gaze to the floor. ''Nothing to say for yourself?'' The man was unbearably smug. I knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of that kind of obnoxious, condescending attitude and it made me wish (insanely enough) I knew something about the interpersonal dynamics of these two so that I could help my fellow student. ''You're going to have to find your tongue soon, boy; Kiki's going to want an explanation about the Rover.'' I turned to see if the comment had been made because Seth was pulling in, but was disappointed to see an empty driveway; and not just because it meant my plan to attract the Cohen's son was delayed. No, I had been hoping the arrival of the man's grandson might quiet his vitriol.

You couldn't say the old bastard wasn't clever; putting together my dinged-up Mustang with the absence of the Rover and the repair kit (I think that's what it was) the other teen was holding to equal a vehicular 'incident'..

''Just a dent.'' The blonde boy mumbled, fiddling with the box he'd dug out of the piles of stuff in the garage. ''I can fix it.'' He sounded defeated, like he expected at any moment to be punished for something (I could be big and admit it) that not only wasn't his fault, but was a total accident.

''Can you.'' Just as I'd feared, the flat blue eyes turned to me; piercing with their lack of humanity, of depth. ''Is that what he told you?'' The question was snarkily mocking and patronizing. Before I could even nod, unable to think of anything to say that wouldn't be pathetic, Mr. Nichol was swinging back towards his daughter's ward; smirking disdainfully. ''Planning on adding another notch to your belt with this little whore?''

He did **not** just say that.

My vision narrowed, my heart started pounding wildly with offended rage.

''Looks like my mother was right.'' The older face crinkled with confusion, the younger was flushed with guilt (over the way he'd been ogling me, no doubt) and anger. My voice was cold, tone perfectly chilled for interaction with Newport's elite. ''You really **are **an egomaniacal, manipulative, spoiled brat of a man.'' Ryan's mouth snapped shut, the red fading from his skin as he stared at me in utter shock. I felt a surge of anger towards the Cohens (even the focus of my affection, Seth) for making someone coming to his defense such a surprise.

''This is **my** house, you will not speak to me …..'' I interrupted. Yes, it was rude; but no ruder than he was being. Besides, his inappropriate remark meant that I was darn near obligated to retaliate as best I could.

Years of overheard gossip and mother's sycophantic ranting meant that my best was going to be pretty fantastic.

''**Your **house?'' I affected startlement, looking around as if seeing my surroundings for the first time. ''I thought this was _Kirsten Cohen's_ house.'' Obviously, no one had ever stood up to him so blatantly before; the old bastard closed his gaping mouth and glared, apparently unable to think of anything to say to put me in my 'place'. Of course, the fact he had no idea who I **was** undeniably hindered his ability to belittle me. ''Oh, was this the _**bribe**_?'' I aimed a wide-eyed look of (false) wonder at him, letting a polite, plastic smile cross my face. ''Mother always wondered what incentive you gave Mrs. Cohen to come back and save the Newport Group from bankruptcy, twelve years ago. Very nice.'' It was, too; one of the better examples of southern Californian architecture. I wished I had an excuse to see the interior, especially Seth's room. It would make my plans so much easier if I had some idea of what music he liked to listen to, what movies he enjoyed.

''Young lady…….'' He tried to take advantage of my momentary distraction (wondering if I'd have to convert to Judaism for the wedding) to gain the upper hand in our 'discussion'. Living with Veronica, however; had prepared me well for verbal combat.

First rule: never let anyone else get a word in.

''This place is worth, what? Four, maybe six million, including escrow?'' Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ryan blinking in surprise. Caleb was wrong, then. If the boy had **truly** been trying to con the Cohens out of their savings, he would've known the value of the house, the cars, _everything_; from Mrs. Cohen's jewelry on down to the knobs on the doors. ''When she took over, your company was worth about two million; and now it's worth nearly fifty. Quite the accomplishment.'' I made it clear I wasn't complimenting **him** in my statement, and clearly saw my Home Ec partner ducking his head to hide the amusement in his eyes. ''Pretty lousy deal, though. Bringing the Newport Group out of shady dealings to the top of the industry; and you not only deny her any credit, you don't even let her put the family's home in her name.'' It was just the sort of conniving, self-serving move Veronica would approve of.

If she didn't absolutely loathe the man (who knew I'd ever end up agreeing with my mother?), probably because he'd turned down her advances; the two of them would've gotten along great.

''Don't take too long with her car, Ryan.'' Having no other option (unless he wanted to get violent) but to admit defeat, Newport's most powerful man surrendered the field to me (!) and turned to go; heading for the Benz he'd parked on the street. ''I'm sure Kiki will be eager to speak with you.'' The threat was clear: he was going to call the woman and give her a (completely lie-ridden) head's-up about her ward.

''Thanks.'' He didn't appear to be concerned about his guardian's reaction to the no-doubt accusatory message they were about to receive. Opening the box, he slanted an appreciative look (and not of my body this time) at me as he prepared to repair my vehicle. ''That was great.''

''The look on his face **was** _tres amuser_, no?'' Ryan smiled at me, an open and utterly appealing expression of honest entertainment. A jolt of electric sensation crawled over my skin. The girls in class were right, he **was **_**very**_ attractive; viscerally speaking. Maybe his brother wasn't the one I should be after……..

No. I'd learned my lesson about the good-looking ones last year.

This time, I was going to chose based on actions (Seth had been charming and nice where this boy had been …….well, anyway; not **as** nice) and mutual interests (I already knew we had graphic novels in common, there were likely more areas of synchronicity) instead of how bright and golden his hair was, or how vibrant and intense his blue eyes were, or how firm and well-formed his muscles, how taught his stomach, how his lips were hypnotically enticing………

I waited until he was applying the equipment to my car's fender before shaking my head, yanking my gaze away from his backside with an effort. There was _no way_ I was going to let him get to me, to yield to my baser impulses. Putting my fingers to my temple, I solidified my choice; concentrating on the gentlemanly charm of Seth Cohen. I breathed a sigh of relief as, with more effort than I wanted to think about; the images of the taller boy replaced the animal allure of his brother. It was just too ludicrous to even contemplate, anyway. We had absolutely **nothing** in common, no mutual interests, no shared history of the other kids making us miserable to commiserate over.

Ryan Atwood and Taylor Townsend?

Impossible, that's what it was.

Just impossible.


	7. Seven

**A/N: ** Ahoy! Angst ahead!

And naked!Ryan to cheer Waltzy up, b/c she has to go back to work tomorrow.

This takes place later the same night of last chapter.

--xxx--

It was impossible to get the girl out of my mind.

Ever since she stood up to Cal (for whatever reason) I hadn't been able to go more than a _second_ without thinking about her in one aspect or another. Naked fantasies I was used to: a shower (cold or warm) and I'd be back to good. Losing chunks of time because I was imaging what it'd be like to hang out with her, to have her as a girlfriend (aside from the sexual benefits): **that **was new, and I had no idea how to deal with it.

That, and her probing me for information about Seth (she was _barely_ subtle about it) made me both guilty and jealous; and that was completely ridiculous.

What did I have to be jealous about, anyway? My brother was completely obsessed with Summer; I don't think he even realized other girls **existed**. Besides, she thought I was an idiot and a hoodlum; and I _certainly_ didn't like _**her**_. Taylor was obnoxious and annoying (beautiful) and weird (funny) and insane (amazing) and snobbish (classy, smart) and bossy (fucktastically hot) and I just _**wanted**_ her so bad……….

''Everything okay, man? The Rover's fixed, right?'' Sometimes, having your best friend be completely oblivious to the undertones of what was going on around him was a good thing. I took enough teasing from the guy without him catching me with a hard-on that felt like I was about to bust the zipper. Taking a deep breath, I blinked, realizing that I'd been standing with the 'ding-whammy' thing in my hands; staring blindly (images of a wickedly naked Taylor dancing in my head) at the wall of the garage. Nodding to answer him, I packed it back into its box. ''Good, because the 'rents are pretty much frothing with the need to talk to you. Something about Grandpa and Theresa?'' Resisting the urge to toss the box against the wall as hard as I could, I set it very carefully on top of the pile I'd dug it out of. If that son of a bitch went anywhere _**near**_ Theresa, I promised myself; I'd show him just how much of a 'juvenile delinquent' I was. Show him some things Frank had taught me (resulting in the scar over my eyebrow, among others) before being sent to prison. ''Are you sure you're all right? You usually stress out and brood for **days** after Grandpa 'talks' to you.''

''I'm fine.'' I could see he didn't believe me, but I really didn't feel like dealing with it; preceding him back into the house while I made sure my over shirt was hanging low enough to be concealing. So he'd noticed that Cal and I didn't get along; that was surprising. Seth had an occasional tendency to live in a world of his own making, carried away by his enthusiasm for how things 'should be'. Good to know he was aware of the problem, even if he didn't dare do anything about it. With his lack of experience with family confrontations, I couldn't really blame him for not stepping in when his grandfather was ranting at me.

Two people I did blame, however; were waiting for us in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner.

**That** had been an awkward meal.

Seth's recounting of the accident, while amusing; didn't do anything to take the tension out of the air. Theresa's name hung heavy, though unspoken; and only the promise that we'd talk (afterwards) about what had happened this summer spared me their interrogation so that I could choke down whatever it was we'd eaten. Now, the moment of truth that _should_ have taken place the night I returned (with my brother in tow) was going to go down as a result of Cal's accusations. I'd gotten used to things in this house being fair, people trusting me; the injustice of their lack of understanding made my meal sit in my stomach like a lead brick. I braced my palms on the counter, taking a deep, prepatory breath. All at once was best, like ripping off a band-aid.

''Last night, I drove to Chino and saw Theresa buying baby stuff. Her mother admitted that they lied about the miscarriage.'' Rage and irritation surged through me; I continued staring at the counter-top, not wanting them to think the emotions were aimed at them, even though, to a minor extent, they were.

''That's good, right?'' Trust my friend to try and fill the uncomfortable silence. I canted a glance sideways at him; he was attempting to smile through his worry and fear. I didn't dare look at his parents, afraid of what I **wouldn't** see (compassion, trust, respect) on their faces. ''I mean, the baby's okay; Theresa's okay. That's a good thing, isn't it?'' For someone who'd been so upset with the girl for 'taking me away', he seemed really relieved that she (and her child) were healthy. The guy was such a mix of self-involvement and generosity; it made my head spin, sometimes.

''What are you going to do?'' Fear was thick in the casual disinterest of Sandy's voice. I risked a quick look and saw him playing with his coffee mug, watching the swirl of liquid within it with great fascination. Kirsten stood still and tight-faced next to him, frantic pleading in her eyes; her gaze locked on her son.

She didn't even appear to be aware that I was still in the room.

''Stay here.'' Relief loosened the shoulders across the counter, but I was tenser than ever. Fuck treating me like a responsible adult; where the **hell** were the people who'd tried so damn hard in spring to keep me here? Where were the _**parents**_ who'd repeatedly pointed out that I was a child, **their** child? I was _sixteen __**fucking**__ years_ old, for crying out loud! They shouldn't be _asking_ me, they should be _telling_ me. I was about to say something about not being wanted (by Theresa, by them) when Kirsten said the cruelest thing I'd ever heard her say.

''Do you need any money? To send to Theresa or anything?'' My hands were clenching into white-knuckled fists, I dropped them to my sides to hide the way they shook with the force of my anger. I wanted to shout at her so badly, to call her on being her father's daughter; but I was too afraid that losing my temper might be the final straw that changed her mind and got me tossed out on my ass.

''Got kind of a job. Weekends.'' My tone was just barely calm, it cost me a ton of willpower to keep from gritting it out, from snapping the words off cold and hard. I kept my eyes aimed downwards, so none of them could see the pain that was twisted around with my rage until I was seriously considering running out of the room; just so I could take an easy breath.

''I don't know if that's such a good idea.'' Sandy observed, making me want to snarl at him. Where was **he** when I was making these decisions, re-structuring my life? Giving me 'space'? **Fuck** that shit. He hadn't been there when I'd needed him, he didn't get to challenge my choices now. ''Your new classes ……….'' Great, now even my guardian thought I was an idiot. Had he forgotten about the ninety-eight percentile, earned back **before** I had the advantages of attending Harbor?

Or was it just that he didn't care anymore?

''I'll quit if it gets to be a problem.'' The school work wasn't as easy as last year's classes, but it was still far from difficult. Playing pool didn't take that huge a bite out of my time, so I wasn't even running the risk of getting behind on my homework. Maybe I could find a poker game or two, really rake it in. My only concern was that Cal might take it into his head to 'do something'; but I figured I (and Theresa) was safe so long as I didn't take any money (aside from my allowance, which apparently didn't even register with the bastard as petty cash) from the Cohens.

''Are you sure you don't need anything?'' Kirsten moved to touch my shoulder and I couldn't help but move away from the false gesture. Hunched in, arms crossed over my chest, staring at me feet; I wondered how the hell I was going to get to sleep when I could barely fucking breathe past the pain and anger. No way would they give me a drink, even to relax me enough to rest; and I was no longer in any mood (my erection having vanished with the start of this conversation) to take other measures.

Wait, maybe there was something……

''There's a punching bag in the garage.''

I was amazed they'd heard the whispered comment, but Sandy seemed enthusiastic about my 'finally dealing with my anger issues'. Telling him that his recent confusing behavior was the source of most of my current 'anger issues' would probably spoil his apparent good mood; so I kept that piece of information to myself, mentioning something about imaging Cal's face under my fists. He'd laughed, leaving me to finish the job of securing the thing to the ceiling. Seth got bored, watching me work; so I didn't even have to worry about chasing him out to use the thing. Drawing the blinds, I eyed the 'body substitute' and wondered what I'd been thinking; believing that violence (even pretend violence) would calm me down.

Experimentally, I slammed the side of my fist against the fake leather. Strangely satisfied by the impact, I took a solid stance, hands raised, and punched the thing.

As if the action was a dam giving way; I found myself throwing blow after blow into the solid mass; ignoring the sting in my knuckles as my brain called up image after image, feeding my pain and anger.

Theresa's voice, cracking _thump_ as she lied to me, betraying **years** of friendship and trust.

Paloma's clear-eyed condescension _thump_ as she told me it was 'for the **best**'.

Sandy's lack of interest _thump _in my life, not even **asking** _thump_ about my 'job'.

Kirsten's offering me _thump_ **money,** her pretense _thump _of affection.

**Caleb** _thump_ standing there and sneering _thump_ at me, his disdain _thump_ and contempt obvious.

Taylor looking **past** me _thump_ to Seth, who was obliviousto her interest _thump _and her **using** me _thump_ to get information on my **brother** _thump_.

Eventually, I shuddered to a stop; gasping for breath and resting my forehead against the bag, now damp with sweat and tiny flecks of blood. I flexed my hand, holding it within my line of sight to see the small scrapes across the back. That was a familiar image, the evidence of blows I'd given on my knuckles. The left was about the same, fewer scrapes, it being my off-hand. I'd have to wrap them next time. Not that I expected anyone to really notice, but better safe than fussed at. I staggered a bit on my way to the shower, light-headed from the sudden release of tension. Sleep now seemed attainable, so long as I could avoid thinking about a certain auburn-haired temptation…….

_**Fuck**_.

Extra-long shower it was, then.

I just need to adjust, I decided, stripping off my now-sweaty clothes; get used to being back among the smoking hotties, none of whom I can touch. A week, tops; and I'd have a handle on it.

Nice phrasing, jackass, I scolded myself; looking down with a sigh of resignation.

It was gonna be a long week.


	8. Eight

**A/N: ** Takes place some days after the last chapter. Hope this isn't too OOC.

--xxx—

It had been a long week.

Gathering information on Seth Cohen was harder than I'd thought it would be, and not just because his brother was a mono-syllabic, brooding hunk. Seriously, the boy had the physique of a Greek god; it made our Home Ec class a frustrating exercise in concentration. His subdued attitude, and the air of depressed rage that hung about him, made it hard to suppress my natural curiosity (and compassion, though I tried not to be so 'weak', as Veronica called it).Then there was his attire. There must be something wrong with the Cohen's washing machine (or he was still using last year's clothes), because he'd been wearing these one-size-too-small tee-shirts (I tried not to think about his jeans, or the Chinos he sometimes wore; both fitting him quite nicely) all week, and that only made keeping my mind on the class work (recipes, proper use of kitchen appliances) even **more** difficult.

Not to mention the difficulties the handsome (_stop it_) knuckle-dragger was causing me in my **other** endeavors.

Following him and his brother had to be the toughest thing I'd ever done. Sometimes they took one of their parents' cars to school, sometimes they used bicycle and skateboard. After school activities were just as hard to predict, despite the advantage of my sharing the last class of the day with Ryan. Comic shop wasn't always a firm possibility, especially now that Seth had a job at that new place on the pier. The Bait Shop may not be influential enough to be the new CBGB's, but it had its fair share of drama, nonetheless.

Watching Seth fail so miserably to get Summer back was both disturbing and wonderful. Disturbing, because I really didn't like seeing him hurt and there was a niggling suspicion that the girl wasn't as sincere in her rejection as she seemed; and wonderful because that meant the boy I'd decided would be the perfect boyfriend was now a free agent. Seeing how the other boy ended up trailing after Marissa Cooper that night only made my choice to pursue the brunette brother more sensible. I'd lost social chair to her; I wasn't about to set myself up for the even more socially-humiliating defeat of competing with her for a guy's attention.

It was bad enough that I had to admit failure on obtaining information about Seth with my usual methods.

That was totally Ryan's fault, though. Somehow, he knew when someone was watching him. He couldn't always spot me, but the gap of time between him obliviously standing there and when he started looking around was getting smaller and smaller. In the beginning, he'd just grinned at me; never mentioning (to me or anyone else, from what I could tell) my stalking of (to myself, I could admit what it was) his brother. Lately, though; he'd begun to step into my line of sight, blocking my view of the other boy and, when I'd tried to follow him after the concert-drama at The Bait Shop, intending to speak to him about his behavior; he'd lost me. That, and my camera had a faulty focus, no matter what the patronizing geek at the repair service had said.

All the pictures I'd taken of Seth, and it was the blonde boy who came through perfectly defined; his brother all fuzzy and, in some cases, cut out of the photo entirely. There was also something wrong with the shutter button, because some of the pictures didn't have the object of my affection in them at all; they were all of his brother, and that was annoying. The most annoying part of it was that I couldn't bring myself to throw them away, although I **had **managed to resist making a scrapbook. The box under my bed should've been tossed into the garbage, what with its total lack of helpful information on my future boyfriend; but I just couldn't do it. Looking at them was a guilty pleasure because, while I didn't **want** to be this shallow, I also didn't get that pleasant tingle along my skin when thinking of the taller boy.

Moments of weakness, that was all those impulses were. I just didn't have enough self-control to resist the animal magnetism of Ryan's body when he wasn't around to remind me of how irritating he could be. Not that I did any better when he **was** around. For instance, and to my shame; I was probably the only person (not in the industry) who knew how many stitches were in the crotch-seam of the average pair of boy's jeans. Giving him an imitation of the same frigid attitude Veronica used with me wasn't perhaps the best way to befriend him, but I couldn't take the risk of him seducing me into losing focus on my pursuit of the perfect guy. Once Seth and I started dating, we could work on shifting this purely physical attraction to its appropriate target. I just had to get to know the guy, and that meant I had to actually go up and speak to him.

I was so nervous, walking across the quad to where they were standing, I almost didn't notice what they were doing.

When I did, the realization caused a surge of purely feminist irritation to drive me the rest of the way over to the two _**jerks**_.

''Shopping for girlfriends in the courtyard?''

''Yes.'' ''No.''

''Well, that's not pathetic …'' Hard hazel stare at Seth, despite his honest answer. ''…..or demeaning…..'' Ryan had the good grace to hang his head in shame, but the fact that he'd tried to lie made me less inclined to be merciful with **him.** ''…at all.'' They were silent, properly abashed for their naughty behavior. I couldn't help but use the opportunity to get some information, though; to see how much work I'd have to do to achieve my goal. I knew I wasn't anywhere close to Summer's league in terms of looks, but how heavy a factor was that going to be? Perhaps, having dating a beautiful girl; he was now ready for a more sensible one, who wouldn't mock (and even shared) his interests. ''So, how does this work? Is there a ranking system, or is each girl judged on her individual merits?'' My class-partner's eyes roamed over me and I hugged my books to my chest, unable to keep from snapping: ''And by 'merits' I mean rack and/or ass.''

''It's a simple yes/no survey.'' My potential boyfriend admitted, looking less ashamed since I'd taken the sharp edge out of my voice.

''Yes/no survey.'' His brother echoed, mumbling as he looked down at his feet. **My** eyes were the ones to travel inappropriately, this time; and I yanked my attention back to the taller boy (where it _belonged_, darn it) before I could get caught ogling the (mouth-wateringly attractive) boy standing next to him.

''I see.'' Annoyance with my lack of self-control (I had to **stop** trying to figure out what that bulge below the blonde's waist was _or at least stop looking at it_) as well as the flaw (checking out girls in the quad when he'd never **once **looked at me) I'd just discovered in the object of my affections drove my next words out before I could reconsider the 'hard-to-get' strategy. ''In that case, 'no'……'' Seth didn't look upset, in fact my 'rejection' seemed to cheer him up considerably. Was he **that** set against even the **possibility** of going out with me? ''…..and 'no'.'' Ryan's reaction was subtle, but his clenched fists and slumped shoulders gave the impression of extreme disappointment. I hoped he wasn't going to sulk for long; class could be so **very** awkward (and being distracted by his sheer sexual **presence** wasn't a good thing when working in the kitchen) if he kept brooding. ''See you in class.''

So much for the conversation I'd had planned; the one about anime and comics and music as I walked with him to homeroom. I'd wanted to show him how much we had in common, how close we could be if he just gave it a chance. I wanted to see him smile, to hear his laughter, to see his blue eyes light up with the joy of seeing me and…….Wait a minute.

Seth has **brown **eyes, not blue.

''Get a grip, Townsend.'' I muttered to myself, resisting the urge to turn around and see if he was watching me walk away. Seth, that is; not Ryan. I didn't like the blonde boy, not at all. So he was physically appealing, so what? That didn't mean I _**liked**_ him; no matter how much I thought about his body, or the way he'd kind of half-smile at the stupidity of the idiots in class, or his aura of quiet competence, or the way he filled out his jeans…… ''All right, just stop it.'' That got me some weird looks, but I was used to that. What I wasn't used to was my mind wandering away from the path I'd set for it. You'd think I was one of these bottle-blonde bobble-heads, the way I kept daydreaming about the guy.

It had to stop,** I** had to stop.

Maybe if I took it in stages? Stop thinking about _one_ portion of his anatomy at a time, instead of trying to block out all of it at once? That could work.

Okay, then. First step?

Stop thinking of his (magnificently fine) ass.


	9. Nine

**A/N: ** Okay, my friend Lori is writing the most fantastic S4 AU called I Wanna Be There and she's getting all depressed and threatening to cancel it because no one's reviewing.

We can **not** let this happen.

Seriously, I'd go bug-fuck crazy if I was deprived of that story. It's sooo good!

I'm calling on my fellow Peaches fanatics to give that story the love it deserves so we can have all the wonderful scenes (no, I won't tell you; live with it) that Lori has planned.

--xxx--

And now, back to the regularly scheduled **ORy** AU.

--xxx—

That was one seriously fine ass.

''I can't believe I finally met her.'' Seth's statement pulled my attention away from the pleasure of watching the girl leave. She was becoming lost in the crowd anyway, so I could concentrate on the lack of sense in my brother's comment.

''I thought you said you knew Taylor.'' The morning after our fender-bender with the auburn beauty, he'd told me story after story of one Taylor Townsend. I tried not to show how much I enjoyed and appreciated the information; not a problem with him focused so completely on Summer. Even this hunt for a 'new girlfriend' was about making his ex jealous. I just hoped the girl he chose wouldn't take it too hard when they got back together.

''Taylor Cohen. It's got a nice ring to it, doesn't it?'' No, it didn't. It actually made me a little sick to my stomach, but not as sick as what he said next. ''Will you hook that up for me?'' I reminded myself that he wasn't deliberately being an asshole; he was just insensitive because he was self-absorbed and obsessed with his own life.

Wait, how did that **not** make him an asshole?

''No.'' My denial was barely civil, not that he noticed. There was a look in his eyes I recognized all too well; the same look he'd had when declaring his intention to climb onto a coffee (or whatever) cart at the carnival and tell Summer he still loved her. The tight feeling in my gut was getting stronger, recognizing that he was just stubborn enough to latch onto Taylor in his need to make the other girl jealous.

''Why not? Unless…..hey….'' Oh, **fuck**. He was looking at me specutively, his suspicions leading him closer to the truth than I wanted him to go. I'd spent the past week and a half wearing tight clothes in the (obviously vain) hope that she'd change her mind about pursuing my brother and turn to **me**, instead. ''Do you like her?'' Admitting that I **did**, but that she didn't seem to like me **back **was too humiliating to even contemplate. I saw the anticipation on his face, the eagerness with which he awaited the opportunity to tease the ever-living shit out of me…..

And lied through my teeth.

''No.'' Seth wouldn't take that for a solid answer, and he might take it as a green light to pursue the girl **I** wanted; so I tried to throw him off. The fact that she would welcome his attention (but not mine), that she'd be more than happy to spend time with him (but not me) only made me feel like a jackass for trying to keep them apart. ''It's just……she's argumentative, bossy, difficult……'' Amazing, hot, courageous, smarter than half the school……

''Yeah, that's my type.'' I was possessed by a strong urge to take a page from his former girlfriend's book and smack some sense into my best friend's head. He wasn't anywhere **near** ready to date yet, and I didn't want Taylor getting hurt; especially if it meant she'd write off guys entirely. **My** chances weren't good, granted; but I still had a shot. Provided I could find a way to prevent this catastrophe, that is.

''Didn't you say Summer and Marissa hated her?'' He was usually _terrified_ of doing anything that irritated the tiny brunette; maybe the possibility of her going off on him about this would keep him away from **my** ……Home Ec partner.

''Yeah, nice bonus; isn't it?'' It was getting increasingly hard not to resent Seth. He didn't know anything about her, didn't know about the compassion (seen when she'd taken on Cal) underneath the bitchy exterior. He didn't know the way her nose crinkled when she laughed (usually at the idiots in class) or how she put her fingertips to her temple when she was upset or how she'd followed him around this past week, taking pictures……. He knew next to nothing about the **real** Taylor Townsend, but he was still determined (I could see it in his eyes) to take her away from me.

Wait, I'd have to actually have **had** her before he could 'take her away from me'.

''Maybe you should hold out for someone else.'' It was mumbled and pathetic, but he was too excited by the idea of a new girlfriend to notice. The more I thought about it, the sicker I felt; because I could see it working. I could see the two of them, getting along great and maybe even falling in love (I swallowed hard to avoid puking); leaving me out in the cold (like a kid in a Dickens novel), staring longingly at what I could never have.

''No, I need **that** one; and I need you to make that happen for me.'' I nearly confessed my attraction for her, knowing he'd back off if I admitted my own interest. Only thing was, I couldn't. It wasn't like the two of us stood a chance in hell, not with all our differences. Maybe I was just fooling myself, thinking that a girl like that would ever want anything to do with a guy like me. ''Okay? Can you make it happen?'' Resentment flared, but I fought it back with the knowledge of how good she'd be **for** him, how happy she'd be **with** him. ''Can you hook me up? Help a brother out…..'' I closed my eyes, resenting him playing the 'brother' card when my hesitance was due more to the tangle of my emotions than reluctance to do him a solid.

''I can hook it up.'' It'll be better this way, I told myself. She'll get a guy who's got the same background, similar interests, a bright future; and he'll get a girl who won't put him down, who won't use violence as foreplay, who'd never let him leave.

''That's what I like to hear. Thank you.'' I realized he was only asking me to do this because his record with girls was so pathetically dismal; but I still felt used and angry. Maybe I should stop by the gym during lunch, try and regain some self-control. Maybe take a cold shower, too.

I was going to need every advantage to keep from revealing my own desires when I asked Taylor to go out with my brother.

--xxx—

I leaned on the rail of the upper level of The Bait Shop and watched my best friend push an equipment trunk across the stage, wondering what the hell it was she saw in him.

When I'd blurted out the invite, making clear it came from Seth; her entire face had lit up. She'd clapped her hands like a little kid, throwing her arms around me (for a thankfully **brief** hug) and whispering a 'thank you' into my ear. The rest of the class (and my libido) completely misunderstood her gesture, glaring at the two of us (_aching _to have her body pressed to mine again, only without the clothes this time) for the remainder of the hour. It was nice not to have to listen to the salacious giggling, but I was too disgusted with myself to appreciate it.

I should've told him, I should've told **her**. So words weren't my strong suit; but I'd bet that if I had just grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her (like I **still** desperately wanted to), they would've gotten the point. Taylor probably would've just kneed me or slapped me or something, though. That was one of her best qualities, that she didn't take any shit from anyone: not Caleb and certainly not me.

''Hey.'' I gave up on figuring out **why** she preferred **his **scrawny ass and called attention to myself. He looked up, breath heaving as he tried to move the trunk. I started down the stairs, ignoring the voice in my head that said I could still prevent this. All I had to do was **not **tell him, and his own ineptitude and her dashed hopes would do the rest.

It was the 'dashed hopes' part of that equation that kept me moving towards the guy (in unwilling, sick determination) to deliver my news.

''I think all this manual labor is affecting my vibe. Do I seem tougher to you?'' My Chino side urged me to **prove** that he wasn't, to flatten his face for asking me to set him up with a girl **I** wanted. It was harder than it should've been to resist the impulse, so I went for the Newport standard of a snide remark.

''You don't want me to answer that.'' His feet slipped (due to lack of coordination, not as a reaction to what I'd said), nearly sending him skidding off the stage; before he recovered enough to stand upright. I waited until I was at the bottom of the stairs, wishing I had a justifiable reason to put it off a few hours (days, weeks, **years**) longer. ''So, you have a date tomorrow night.'' Better just to get it out there, so I could escape the suddenly unwelcome presence of my brother.

''I do? Who with?'' He couldn't be this dumb, could he? Well, where girls were concerned, he just might be. Look at the mess he made every time he tried to involve himself in Summer's life, even as a friend.

''Taylor.'' I didn't mention that he'd been singing her praises at lunch, not wanting to revisit the memory of how difficult it had been not to strangle him. It was pretty difficult **now**. It's not his fault, I kept reminding myself. Life sucks, that's just how it is.

''I didn't think she'd say 'yes'. This changes everything.'' He was panicking, this was good. Maybe he'd wreck this thing all on his neurotic lonesome. I wasn't too proud to help the girl pick up the pieces after he bailed on her. ''I can't do this.''

''I'm not getting you out of it.'' Seth was going to have to bear his own bad news, this time. No way was I setting myself up to be the messenger, destroying any chance I might eventually have.

''Well, I'm not going.'' I frowned to cover my excitement, the knot in my gut loosening at the stubborn expression on his face. ''Unless you go with me.''

''As what, your chaperone?'' No way in **hell **was I doing this. I knew they could be good together, might fall in love; I didn't need, didn't **want**, to watch it happen. Having him screw up the situation was far preferable to whatever crazy plan he'd just come up with.

''No, we'll double.'' A simple raise of the eyebrows reminded him that I didn't have a girlfriend anymore. He shrugged, and I resisted the urge to sigh. I should've known a little detail (like reality) wouldn't stop him once he'd gotten an idea in his head. ''I'll set you up.'' As much as I didn't want to be a third wheel, I wanted to double even less. I had no desire to be anywhere near Marissa after what she'd done (just one in the recent string of betrayals, but it still stung) and no other girl at school would be seen with me socially. Just because they wanted to fuck me (or thought they did) didn't mean they'd date me.

''With all the single girls you know.'' Sarcastically pointing out the flaw in his plan was less humiliating than admitting the truth. He made a face at me, acknowledging the humor as he tried to think his way out of the situation. I told myself not to hope, knowing that there was a chance (slim, but a chance) that he'd go for it even if I wasn't going to be there (which I wasn't) to back him up.

''Hey, Seth; there's a clogged toilet with your name on it.'' Alex walked past us, nodding at me as she went by. ''Hey.''

''Hey.'' My brother was giving his boss an odd look, I turned to see what he was staring at and came back around to see a very familiar light in his eyes. Oh, **hell** no. Shaking my head was apparently not getting the message across, so I spoke. ''No.''

''Yes.'' He smiled, pumping his fist in obvious anticipation of his 'victory'. Like there was even a remote possibility that I'd agree to this.

I wasn't masochistic.

''No.'' I firmed up my voice, trying to convey my utter determination of complete refusal. No way in hell, I thought to myself. I didn't want Taylor to think Alex was my 'type'; my chances were slim enough as they were.

''Yes.'' Again with the fist pumping, I shook my head as much at his antics as to re-iterate my denial of his scheme. ''Ask yourself why not?'' Because I'd rather have **your** date, stupid, I snarked internally. ''She's got tattoos, you've got a wrist cuff; it's like a wrong side of the tracks love story.'' That couldn't be what he really thought of me, could it?

Watching his face as he babbled about white trash celebrities, I saw something under his nervous fear (about screwing things up with yet **another** girl) that made me change my mind and agree to his lunacy. Seth went off to arrange matters with Alex, leaving what I'd seen unspoken between us; emphasized by the (intended to be comforting) clap of his hand on my shoulder.

Concern.

He was **worried** about me, worried about how I was dealing with the whole Marissa-rejection/Theresa-betrayal mess. It was the first time since I'd come back that any of my new family had even hinted (believably, anyway) that having me around was anything more than a habit. An internal voice (sounding uncomfortably like Trey) pointed out that doubling with Seth and Taylor would give me the perfect opportunity to make sure that things went badly.

I tried to ignore the idea as I made my way up the stairs, reminding myself (despite the pain) of how excited (and happy, don't forget happy) she'd been when she realized I was asking her out on my brother's behalf. I couldn't help but be twisted up about tomorrow night's plans. Taylor had been ecstatic, Seth was his typically enthusiastic self; but I was having trouble being anything but reluctant (Alex wasn't anyone I was interested in), pissed off (he could do this himself, he didn't need me along to hold his hand), and jealous as hell (why **him** and not me?). Looked like I'd be putting in a few hours with the punching bag, when I got home.

Because, regardless of the way I felt about it ………

I had a date.


	10. Ten

**A/N: ** Sorry for the long wait. I want to thank Waltzy and Lori for their help and encouragement.

If it sucks, that's me.

--xxx—

I have a date.

It was a magic phrase, making me feel beautiful and feminine and happy. I wanted to say it over and over and over again until I was convinced that it was actually real. I wanted to take out an ad in the school paper and shout it from the top of the admin building and hire one of those old-fashioned planes to pull a banner declaring the fact across the sky. My teachers kept giving me odd looks all day; I guess they weren't used to me being **quite** as cheerful as I was. (My fellow students, of course; didn't notice.) I couldn't help it; smiling to myself at odd moments and trying **not** to laugh aloud every time I thought about it.

I have a date.

''Good afternoon, Ryan!'' Taking my seat next to him, I noticed he seemed a little down. He didn't respond to my greeting as he usually did (he was nothing if not polite) and didn't even raise his eyes. That's a little odd, I thought, assembling the ingredients for today's recipe. After the miracle that had taken place during our last class together, I'd completely re-evaluated my opinion of Ryan Atwood. Anyone who would play Cupid for me and his brother was a good person, I felt. Speaking of feeling, he'd felt pretty darn good (body delightfully firm as I clung to him) yesterday when I'd hugged him ….. Cut it out, I scolded my libido. You have a date with Seth Cohen, start thinking of **him**.

Miss Harrison called the class to order and I ignored (easier today than any day previous) the glares from the other students. We usually got to eat the results of our 'labs', if they were successful. Which meant that, while Ryan and I had enjoyed a couple weeks worth of afternoon snacks (good thing I had a high metabolism); the others had to do theirs over. As it stood today, we were at least ten lessons ahead of the rest of the class. Our teacher had even complimented us on a few of the innovations (recipe alterations, extra spices; things like that) we'd tried out. We stood a good chance of not only taking the highest marks in this course in Harbor history, but earning loads of extra credit.

Which is why I felt safe in having a conversation, especially once today's 'lab' (min-pizzas) were safely in the oven and the timer set.

''I just wanted to say 'thanks' again, for the date.'' He nodded, keeping his gaze on the notebook he was working in. From the squiggly shapes (numbers?), I figured he wasn't getting a leg up on **this** class's home work. ''I was wondering if you knew what I should wear tonight?'' The tapping of his pencil on the paper stilled and he looked up at me with an expression of disbelief in his (gorgeous – stop it) blue eyes. ''I'm not expecting fashion tips, Ryan; but the only concerts I've ever been to are operatic or symphonic in nature.'' He blinked, glanced (extremely briefly) at my clothes and returned his attention to his paper; although the pencil remained still in his grip.

''Jeans.'' My partner mumbled, sounding like he was choking on something. ''Like you'd wear to school.'' I huffed my breath in annoyance. For all the staring he'd been doing (until recently, I realized), he obviously hadn't noticed the **kind** of clothes I'd been wearing. Dress slacks, skirts, dresses: when had I **ever** worn jeans?

I don't think I even **have** a pair of jeans, come to think of it.

''Well, do you know what kind of blouse? Long sleeved, short? Casual or something dressy?'' He wasn't saying anything, sitting perfectly still in that way that people did when they wanted me to shut up, but didn't want to be rude. Well, I wasn't going to let it go. He was my only source of information on obtaining Seth's affection, and I wasn't going to just yield to whatever it was he was brooding about. ''I should probably wear flats or sneakers, right? Something practical, minimal jewelry?'' I sighed heavily at his lack of co-operation, pouting my lip in a move that always worked with the traffic cops. ''Give me **something**. What's his favorite color?'' There was a sharp snapping sound and I blinked down at the counter to see Ryan's pencil in little pieces on the paper, his fist clenched so tight it was nearly white.

''Maybe we should just concentrate on the class.'' He muttered, tossing the remnants of his writing utensil carefully. I almost asked if he'd gotten any splinters, but there was a strong air of desperate grief (with an undertone of chilling anger) about him that made me hesitant to speak at all; let alone **to** him. Subdued by his suddenly strange manner, I nodded and went back to planning next week's 'labs' and daydreaming about Seth. It was difficult, because I kept getting distracted by the blonde boy across from me.

What was it about him that kept pulling at my attention? It couldn't be completely physical. I'd had the odd crush or two, going through puberty; this was different. It was nothing like my attraction to his brother, either. That felt …….nice. A soft, safe, warm feeling in my chest. That feeling was something like hope; the hope I'd always had that somehow, someday, I'd find someone who liked me as me and wanted to be friends. With Ryan, it felt…… dangerous. Wild and uncontrollable, like the one and only time I'd been on a horse and it had (startled by one of my peers) taken off with me still on its back.

It felt like I should grab on with both hands and get ready for the ride of my life.

I almost snorted at my own ego. Ryan, the school's answer to Casanova; interested in **me**. The Devil would start his own hockey team first.

Something was definitely bothering him, though. Probably something to do with Marissa; I'd seen them talking between classes and it didn't look like it had gone well. I preferred **that** theory to the one (more panic attack than theory) that said that he was trying to break the news that Seth had changed his mind about our date. Or the fear (ludicrous, because neither boy was **that** mean) that this was all a cruel joke. Random speculations about the possible cause behind his mood traveled through my mind as my partner checked the oven and our 'experiment'. He took out the pan and I froze. Not because the mini-pizzas were ruined, nor because I was afraid of an accident. No, I was unable to move because a horrible thought had just occurred to me.

What if the boy thought I wasn't good enough, _pretty_ enough; for his brother?

''Good job, Taylor; Ryan.'' Miss Harrison snapped me out of my haze, stealing one of our 'lab results' before heading towards one of the other (smoke-filled) kitchenettes with a sigh. ''I think you two deserve to leave early.'' I nodded, gathering my things numbly. I felt too unsettled to grab my just reward in the shape of the snacks we'd made, leaving Ryan (unfairly, but I was distraught) to clean up.

''Taylor.'' His voice pulled me from my fog of depression, I blinked to find myself staring blindly into my locker. Refusing to turn, knowing I'd break down if I saw the pity on his face; I selected the books I'd need for the weekend's homework. ''Taylor, about tonight…..'' Fear clenched tight around my chest and I slammed the locker shut, whirling to face him in the (thankfully empty) hallway.

''What? He's canceling? He found someone prettier? That's not exactly hard.'' I fought back the urge to sniffle, putting my fingers to my forehead in order to keep control of myself. ''I should never have gotten my hopes up.'' It was muttered, but I suppose the empty hallway made it easier for him to hear me. The last bell rang, and I almost didn't catch his response in the resulting clamor of our fellow students.

''Red.'' My head shot up at the apparent non-sequitor to find him smiling at me with sorrow **and **appreciation in his eyes. The smile (forced and painful, but sincere) faded, his gaze traveling over my form with an air of (of all things) regret. I almost didn't catch his departing whisper as he turned away and disappeared into the crowd. ''You look good in red.''

--xxx—

''So much for my very first date.'' I muttered to myself, checking to see if I had cab fare. It was highly likely that Seth would forget I needed a ride home, and I wasn't about to risk the bus at this time of night. Confirming the funds were available, I decided to give the boy one last chance before writing him (and the rest of the male population of Newport) off completely.

The night hadn't started out **that** bad, to be fair. Seeing Ryan there (with his so-obvious blind date, Alex) had actually been reassuring, if somewhat (he was so utterly beautiful, in the Greek sense of the word) distracting. He'd make sure his brother didn't make **too **huge a mess of things, I'd thought. Mon Dieu, had I missed calling **that** one.

I should've seen the danger signs in the doubling of our date. Awkward didn't even begin to describe the conversation (or lack thereof). I attempted to broach several topics (from anime to school to current events) and they all petered out fairly quickly. Ryan I **expected** not to be talkative (Home Ec class had taught me that), but I'd thought that **Seth** would be more communicative. And he **was**.

After Summer had arrived, new boyfriend Zach in tow.

Not even seeing Marissa relegated to third wheel status could salvage the downhill plunge the night took from there.

I'd wanted to know more about Seth, but not the things I learned during those torturous few hours. I didn't want to hear about how long he'd been pining after Summer, or that they'd lost their virginity to _**each other**_ (I nearly smacked him for sharing **that**, something I think his ex would've approved of), or revisit his coffee-cart declaration. At the time, I'd thought it was the most romantic thing, **ever;** now it just made me nauseous. I could've used the distraction of his brother (and his mysterious effect on me); but he and his 'date' had vanished when the rambling had begun. Is this what I was like? Because the way people's eyes glazed over when they talked to me was suddenly perfectly understandable. At least **my** subject matter wasn't completely self-involved; that was something.

''Taylor, wasn't it?'' I nodded at Alex, relieved that her (stomach-tightening hunk) date wasn't with her. That was all I needed, to see the pity in his face while trying not to stare at his ……assets. ''Where's Seth?"

''Chasing after Summer.'' I managed not to choke on the words, but the other girl's name **did** end up a tad bitter. If I couldn't hold his attention when he was being ignored by the girl of his dreams, what hope did I have of gaining it when he recovered from his current depressed state? ''Where's Ryan?'' It was mean, to bring up her own failed evening just because I was suffering, but I was feeling very much put-upon.

''Probably keeping Seth from throwing himself off the pier or something.'' She didn't seem upset, shaking her head at the bartender's upraised empty glass as she leaned against the bar. Once again, I fought back the urge to apologize for overdressing; my tan slacks and dressy red blouse contrasting sharply with her jeans and tee shirt. I should've stopped by the mall on my way home to pick up a pair of jeans, but I'd been too caught up in my expectations for the evening.

Expectations that had been dashed into smithereens when Seth had put his arm around me.

You'd think that would make me happy, I groused to myself. Having the boy I liked put his arm across my shoulders** should've** been, **would've** been, a stellar moment. If it wasn't for the reasons behind the gesture. Making Summer jealous, definitely. Maybe he was even trying not to look pathetic or lonely in front of his ex-girlfriend and her new beau. Interest in me, sadly; wasn't any part of it, and **that** made the feel of being pressed to his side uncomfortable and slightly disturbing.

''Is there a phone? I need to call a cab.'' Hopefully the driver wouldn't be too stubborn; I needed to stop off and pick up some Haagen-Dazs so I could finish off this disaster of a night properly.

''Give it a minute, I'm sure they'll be back in.'' Restraining the urge to be rude, I shrugged; unwilling to convey the lack of **any** desire to spend one more **minute** with either **one **of the Cohen's sons. It was bad enough that I'd be seeing Ryan in class on Monday, I didn't need to be locked in a car with him (his broad shoulders, his sheer masculine charm) and the babble-monkey. ''You know, you really don't seem the type.''

''Yes, Seth made **that** abundantly clear.'' Did she really think I was stupid enough **not** to have realized that on my own? I got it, I was no Summer Roberts; there was no need for her to rub it in.

''Well, he's rebounding. All guys are assholes when they're rebounding.'' Alex smiled; a smile that told of things not to be discussed in mixed company. Sure enough, her next words bore out the naughtiness of her expression. ''The sex is fantastic, though.'' The smile faded as she came back from her reminiscing (or daydreaming) and she sighed a little wistfully. ''Too bad it's so short-lived.''

''What do you mean?'' I tried to tell myself I had too much pride to be interested in this conversation; but I **had, **however briefly, entertained the thought of sleeping with Seth to see if **that** would pull his attention away from his former love. Halfway through the second, final hour; I'd changed my mind about going through with it. There was, after all, a serious risk he'd still be talking (even worse, still be _thinking_) about Summer during the attempted intimacy. ''Rebound boys don't have stamina?'' She laughed, sounding like she was amused by my statement rather than like she was mocking me.

''No, I meant the, for lack of a better term, 'relationship' is temporary.'' I must've appeared as confused as I felt, because she went on. ''They start out all intense, wanting to forget the girl they just lost…'' I could see that. Seth's unending chatter may have been annoying, but it was certainly intense. ''….which is the fantastic sex part of it; but then they start to get all guilty and nervous because they're just 'using' you. It usually falls apart pretty quick after that.''

''What if you really like the guy?'' I needed another female opinion, and there was no way I was asking Veronica for romantic advice. Alex seemed to really have it together. She practically exuded confidence, which is why I was a somewhat surprised that she and Ryan hadn't hit it off. He had a fairly strong air of quiet capability (mouth-watering sex appeal) as well.

''Make sure you're on his radar when he snaps out of it.'' Delivered with a shrug, she nodded a greeting towards some long-haired guy, standing in the hallway by the storeroom. He'd been backstage during the performance, he must have something to do with the band. ''Hang out with his friends, stuff like that.''

She left, obviously needing to take care of some kind of business for the bar. I wondered if the owner of The Bait Shop was compensating her adequately for her efforts on his behalf. I hoped so, just as I hoped she didn't resent a bunch of strange teens taking over her night off. I didn't think she would, though; she seemed really cool and very nice. Maybe we could be friends? The image of the two of us, standing side by side, popped into my head; making me snort with laughter.

Maybe not.

''Hey.'' Ryan was suddenly there, and I was actually happy to see him. He and Seth spent a lot of time together; practically inseparable, in fact. ''You need a ride home?''

''Thank you. That's very considerate of you, Ryan.'' He seemed startled by my ready agreement, but recovered well enough indicate the direction we should go; waiting for me to precede him. It occurred to me that he was a 'rebound guy' as well, which meant that spending time with him would not **only** net me vast amounts of non-Summer-inspired Seth details; but might **also** gain me some much-needed (if I was going to compete with the memory of a girl like Summer) experience.

There was a shocked glance from a girl (vaguely recognized as a fellow student of Harbor) as we exited together, and I couldn't help but give her a smug grin. Between our class-based partnership and the hug I'd given him yesterday and tonight's encounter with a gossip maven: come Monday morning, we'd be an official 'couple'. Thinking of how Marissa would react (aneurysm came to mind) and appreciating the view next to me, I didn't count that as a bad.

So I'd be known (however inaccurately) as **Ryan's** girlfriend.

There were worse fates.


	11. Eleven

**A/N: ** A great big 'welcome back' to Angel. (wave 'hi', everybody!) with the hopes that we'll be seeing her next chapter soon? :P

And thanks to Lori & Waltzy for their proverbial and helpful kicks to my pants.

Oh, and a bit of a temporal rewind; as per.

--xxx—

There'd been worse nights.

I'm sure that, between Dawn's boyfriends and Trey's fucked-up idea of fun; there had, at some point, been worse nights.

I just couldn't think of any.

Taylor had spent the first part of the evening trying to get Seth talking, and the second part of it most likely wishing he'd shut the fuck up. She covered it well, but I could see the occasional pained flare in her (gloriously hypnotic) eyes (even from the upper level) as he babbled on and on about Summer. Not that I could **hear** him (or wanted to, he'd visited the topic too many times to count since my return to Newport), having retreated to a safe distance after what had happened when our exes showed up.

Seeing Marissa, surprisingly, hadn't really upset me all that much. That was what everyone was going to think, though. What with me clenching my fists and making that lame-ass excuse about hitting the john. It wasn't because of Marissa, although seeing her alone and tagging along on Summer's date (I tried not to gloat) **did **take some of the sting out of the way she'd treated me and that DJ guy. While the sight of my former girlfriend **had** thrown me; the **real** reason I'd bailed was the jolt to my gut when that scrawny Cohen arm had flopped around those delicate (delectable) Townsend shoulders.

Walking away was the only chance I had to keep from ripping the limb off and beating the idiot to death with it.

I was **glad **(ashamed and guilty about being so, but glad)that things were going so badly between them, despite the heartache I knew it was likely causing my Home Ec partner. He didn't deserve **any** girl, let alone **this** amazing beauty, if he was going to keep making the same mistakes he had before, when he was with Anna. Constantly talking about his **ex**-girlfriend was _no way_ to charm a new one; not that I was going to tell **him** that. Well, I_ might_ tell him after he skunked all his chances with Taylor; no need to salt his game when he stopped being a threat to mine.

Speaking of behaving like a jerk, I had to locate **my** date, or, to use Seth's term; my 'group-hang partner'. Alex hadn't spent much time in my company since finding out I wasn't into live music, so it took me a little time to spot her; leaning against the rail and looking down into the club. I hoped she wasn't **too** ticked about my ignoring her to brood (and watch Taylor like some kind of pervert stalker) or about the way her night off had gone. I didn't think she could blame me, though; it wasn't like we were remotely interested in each other. It was hard to be attracted to someone who may be _superficially_ similar; but, in actuality, was very different. Not that we didn't have things in common. We both had strained relationships with our parents, both had a preference for comfort (as opposed to fashion) in our clothes, both seemed unable to say 'no' to Seth, both ……… I narrowed my eyes, tracing the direction (and noting the type) of the blonde girl's gaze.

Both had the same appreciation for smoking hot babes in red blouses, apparently.

''Hey.'' I would've been more amused at finding out my brother's boss was a lesbian, if it wasn't my …..if it wasn't a girl **I **wanted that she was staring at. Hell, if anyone **else** had been the focus of her attention, I probably would've offered to introduce them, provided I knew the girl in question. As it was, I barely managed to keep my tone civil.

''Hey.'' I must be getting sloppy, hanging out with Seth so much; because she seemed to pick up on my irritation (jealousy, call it what it is), despite my attempted poker face. ''Relax, I'm just enjoying the view. Kind of like checking out Angelina in Tomb Raider.''

I nodded my agreement (that's one majorly hot piece of celebrity ass), leaning my forearms on the rail next to her. I tried not to look, because I'm supposed to be paying attention to the girl **next **me, not the one, down by the bar, that my eyes automatically go to. Alex didn't seem to mind, though; joining me in my (pathetic) observation of the amazing hotness that was Taylor. It was kind of nice, actually, to have someone **else** checking the auburn beauty out, reassuring me that, **no**, there wasn't something wrong with me; and _yes_, Taylor really **was** that attractive. Being the only one who noticed the girl was **built** (like a brick cathouse) was great from a 'no competition for her attention' standpoint; but from a 'what the hell am I thinking?' standpoint?

It sucked.

So it was nice to have outside confirmation that I was just seeing clearer (not hard, what with being clean, sober, and not a moron) than any of my classmates; instead of wondering if I was staring to lose my grip on reality.

''What?'' The blonde girl was starting to give me odd looks, glancing down at the floor before furrowing her brow in my direction. She'd given the impression that she didn't mind my distraction from what I _supposed_ to be doing (paying attention to her), so I didn't **think** she was mad at me. I figured I better apologize anyway, just to be on the safe side. ''Sorry.'' Turning away from where Seth was approaching hour two of his no-doubt Summer-focused rambling was easier than I thought; what with the pain I could read in his 'date's' face. I had to keep reminding myself that he didn't realize what he was doing, and therefore pounding him into a bloody lump wouldn't do anything but make me feel (for about three seconds, before the guilt hit) better about the two of them 'dating'.

''It's okay.'' For a brief minute, I thought she meant the violent things I was thinking of doing to my brother; but then I realized she was talking about my inability to keep my eyes off Taylor. Even now, my gaze was shifting sideways and down; wanting to keep on eye on the girl so I could step in before Seth made her cry. Given his current oblivious self-involvement, that seemed more and more likely; and I didn't want her to cry. It just seemed ……wrong …for her to do so. Alex motioned between me and herself, mouth quirking sideways in amusement. ''No offense, but I'm not exactly feeling the 'spark'. ''

''Wow.'' I snorted, kind of amused myself. More people than Seth (who was, let's be honest, just **retarded** when it came to women) would expect the two of us (her tattoos, my wrist cuff, our mutual disregard for authority and shared appreciation of Taylor's fine ass) to be 'the perfect couple'. I had a brief flash of realization of what it might be like to have a sister, the ridiculousness of the thought making me grin. ''An honest conversation with a girl. That's a first for me.'' She chuckled briefly (it wasn't that good a joke, but at least she laughed) and returned her gaze to the object of our admiration. There was a long silence as we contemplated the heavenly body below us.

''Why don't you tell her?'' Her perception was just a little creepy, I guess I was too used to the new version of the Cohens, who really didn't notice me at all, anymore.

Great, now I sounded like Seth, whining (if only mentally) about how my parents ignored me.

''Tell her what?'' I shrugged, pushing aside every other (depressing) thought to focus on the girl standing with my idiot jerk of a brother.

''That you like her.'' Her frown was just barely visible out of the corner of my eyes, increasing in intensity when I shook my head.

''There's kind of a problem with that.'' Sighing, I indicated the couple by the bar with the twitch of one finger.

Seth was touching (the jackass) Taylor's arm, most likely to keep her from running the hell away from him. Only a blind man (or my best friend) could miss the hopeful way she gazed up at him, the disappointed hitch to her shoulders as he chased after the departing Summer, the way she stared with desperate longing after the scrawny asshole whose face would be prominently featured in tonight's work-out with the punching bag.

''No problem.'' Alex stated, straightening with a look of determination that I honestly found more frightening than reassuring. ''You head off your friend, I'll fix things with the girl.''

''But…..'' Everything that could go wrong crowded to the front of my mind; including the fear that she might just be having me on in order to take Taylor for her own. As much as it would suck to lose the girl to Seth, at least I knew she'd be happy with that situation. To have some random lesbian end up with her, though;** that** would be a hell I had no desire to visit.

''Go on, just tell Seth I need to talk to him.'' The blonde girl ordered, scowling at me (and looking, for a brief moment, incredibly like Summer) when I didn't move. ''Do you want her or don't you?''

I shot a look down to where Taylor was searching through her purse; and my gut tightened when I thought of how unlikely it was that she'd just give up on her pursuit of Seth: my jaw clenching as I realized that he couldn't stay oblivious _forever_, not with how she'd react (she'd try to fix things, maybe even arrange a more 'private' date in her attempt to hook the guy) to tonight's fiasco. I stared, cataloguing every inch of her to feed my fantasies, asking myself if I **really** wanted anyone else to see if her legs were just as fantastic _without _the slacks. Her blouse was one of those across-the-collarbone things that left her shoulders bare without revealing even a **hint** of cleavage; but that didn't make her any less hot, nor the thought of anyone** else** lifting the fabric over her head any less nauseating.

Want her? Fuck, yeah, I wanted her. Did I deserve……. ? Actually fuck that shit. **I** hadn't done anything wrong; so fuck feeling guilty and fuck being ashamed.

Come to think of it: fuck our 'differences', fuck waiting for **her **to notice **me**, fuck what anyone else (Marissa, the Cohens, **anyone**) would think and _**especially**_ fuck standing aside for Seth.

Taylor was _**mine**_, and to **hell** with whoever got in my way.

--xxx—

I never should've offered to drive her home.

Sure, I was going to find out where she lived, which would make seducing her a hell of a lot easier; but the way she was sitting (eyes downcast, shoulders slumped) made me wonder if I wasn't being the world's biggest jackass. So I'd asked her to change the subject: it wasn't like I'd yelled or cursed or even sharpened my tone. I hadn't been able to take it anymore, I **had **to get her to stop talking about my brother, and now I had a vulnerable, unhappy Taylor (I felt like a monster) with no idea of how it got like this, let alone how to fix it.

When I'd started the car, she'd begun chattering away, which was usually a **good** thing. Girl was brilliant, and listening to her go on (and on, and on; but living with Seth had trained me well) about the several topics she was interested in was usually a great thing; because that meant she was happy, and that meant she'd smile more, and I couldn't get enough of her dazzling (somewhat rare and slightly wacked) smile. Hearing her ramble on about how Seth wasn't ready to date (no shit) and how she should probably give him 'space' (yeah, for the rest of their lives) and how she couldn't compete with girls like Summer or Marissa or Holly (that was a damn _**lie**_, she was **just** as hot as they were, and far more real) and how she was thinking of joining comic club so she could be my brother's _friend_ before becoming his girlfriend …..

It was the last part that had snapped my restraint, making me ask her to change the subject with a pathetic note of pleading in my voice. There was **no way** I wanted her in comic club, connecting with my best (most annoying, at the moment) friend and possibly bonding with Zach or Lewis and basically torturing me with her cheerful, friendly interest in everyone **else**. She'd quieted down all right, only speaking to give me directions and staring out the passenger window with an air of resigned loneliness that made me feel even more of an (to borrow a term from Summer) Asshat.

''Thank you for seeing me home.'' Her house was dark and silent, making it seem more like a mausoleum (or a museum, after closing) rather than someplace people actually **lived**. ''It was a ……nice ….evening.'' Trust Taylor to try and put a positive spin on this disaster.

''It got better towards the end.'' It wasn't much of an opening, but I took it; hoping to discover what it was I'd said or done so I could apologize. The car came to a complete stop and, before I could say anything else; she hopped out of the Rover, slamming the door on her 'goodnight' as she headed towards the front door. Shocked, I sat there for a crucial few seconds, before scrambling out of the vehicle and chasing after her. ''Taylor!'' Damn, she was fast. Should've told her to wear heels or something; slow her down so I could catch up. ''Taylor, wait a minute.'' She whirled on me, eyes bright with unshed tears (oh shit, no) and massive annoyance.

''Why? So you can ask me to shut up?'' Okay, I hadn't said **that**; but she was off in her own little world before I could defend myself. ''So you can set me up on another miserable date? With someone **else** who doesn't want me? Because ….''she laughed, and I flinched from the bitter sound ''…that's not exactly hard to _**find**_, Ryan Atwood.'' Great, she was back to using my full name again. ''Thank you, but no thank you; I don't need to spend another evening being reminded how hideous I am, '' What the _**fuck**_? The girl was _gorgeous_, what the hell was she talking about? ''I get enough of that at school.'' Not after I found out who was saying it, I decided. After I tracked them down, they'd be eaten through a straw (and mumbling, when they dared speak at all) for the rest of high school; even if they were girls. ''Just go home, okay? I'll see you in class.'' It was the defeat in her voice, the acceptance of 'how things were' that pissed me off.

Where was the girl who'd stood up to Caleb Nichol for me, something even my family wouldn't do?

''No.'' I put my hands on her shoulders (trying to ignore the carnal thrill of the contact), wanting, **needing** to see the gorgeous, smart, confident, sultry, amazing _**Taylor**_ I knew was behind this false mini-Newpsie mask. ''Not until you admit you're beautiful.'' She gaped at me in amazement, and I braced myself to be smacked or hit (or kneed, but I was hoping she wouldn't go **that **far) for pushing the subject.

''But, I'm _**not**_….'' She appeared completely confused, brow furrowing as she stared at me in wonder. I gritted my teeth, wishing I could get my hands on whoever had so successfully made her think that she wasn't capable of burning this entire house down from sheer sex appeal without half-trying. ''I'm not beautiful. Pretty, maybe.'' I actually found myself growling in frustration, swallowing the shout of rage I wanted to let loose.

''You **are**. You're beautiful.'' Sliding my palms down to take a grip on her upper arms, I shook her a little; driven to the action by the stubborn set to her chin, the water still welling in her eyes. She turned her face aside, avoiding the conviction in my gaze.

''Summer's beautiful, Marissa's beautiful;'' I scowled at the mention of my ex, wondering if she'd brought those two up deliberately, or if it was just that they were the popularly acknowledged 'beauties' of the school. ''I'm just…….Taylor Townsend.'' She didn't believe me, that was obvious.

''Taylor; you're gorgeous.'' Maybe using a different term would get through to her? Something had to, because I got the feeling that she was perfectly capable of standing here all night and arguing the point until I caved.

''Stop it.'' Taylor sounded really upset, she lifted her eyes back up to mine and my chest seized up at the pain in those hazel orbs. ''You're just trying to keep me from crying.''

Okay, true; but not like her whispered statement was implying. I just wanted to get through to her about this; to give her something to take away from tonight other than a crushed dream and crumpled ego. That, and the selfish part of me knew I'd never get any closer to her if she couldn't accept her own attractiveness, so I **really** had to find the right thing to say. The problem with that plan was that I wasn't exactly good with words; actions (which were rumored to 'speak' louder anyway) were more my thing.

Shit, of course.

There was this startled sound (Squeak? Gasp? Whimper?) when I kissed her, her eyes going wide in the last instant before my lips met hers.

A millisecond later, she was melting against me; returning the lip-lock with unexpected (but more than welcome) passion. Fuck, but it was har……difficult to keep my hands on her upper arms. I wanted to let my touch wander over that tight little body until she dragged me into the house and had her way with me. Feeling her magnificent breasts against my chest through the fabric of our clothes made me moan, shaking with the struggle **not** to peel her clothes off and fuck her senseless. Kissing this girl was the most sexually charged experience of my life; I could barely breathe, I was so turned on by the feel of her small hands pulling at my back, pressing herself further into me. The need for oxygen finally called a halt to it, leaving me with a pounding ache all over.

''Ryan….'' I was impressed, I had to admit. Most girls I kissed like **that **weren't able to think, let alone speak; after. Of course, **most** girls I'd kissed had been high or drunk or tearing my clothes off… ''….just because Seth rejected me, doesn't mean **we **should hook up.'' I smirked.

As much as I wanted to scream with frustration (and the blow to my ego) that she'd been thinking of **Seth** (the bastard), just then; I knew she wasn't as unaffected as she was trying to pretend. Taylor was just as breathless as I was, her lips wet and slightly puffed from how forcefully we'd been kissing, her eyes still somewhat glazed from the rush of it.

And her arms were still around my waist, hands fisted in my shirt.

''Then why did you kiss me back?'' I tried to sound offended, but ended up just sounding as horny as I was. There was no way she could miss it, either, not with our bodies still pressed together from hip to chest.

''…….I ……..I don't…..'' She twitched backwards, ending our embrace; looking around like she expected the answer to be written on the front door of her house.

Yeah, **definitely** not as unmoved as she'd have me believe.

''Well…'' I raised a hand, cupped her cheek; smiling with a teasing smugness as I ran my thumb gently across her bottom lip, making her gasp. ''…when you figure it out….'' Taylor moaned as I leaned in for another mind-blowing kiss, taking my time with this one, sliding my fingers into her hair to make it really intense. She tasted like spiced honey, like the answer to every fantasy or wet dream I'd ever had. I nearly lost it when her tongue touched mine, nearly spoiled my plan of slow seduction with the sudden urge to push her back against the wall and fuck her until she screamed. Pulling together every ounce of control I had left (which wasn't much), I forced myself to break off, to **stop** kissing her. ''…let me know.'' My fingertips trailed gently over her cheek, her eyes huge and wondering as I stepped away from her; turning with reluctance towards the Cohen's car.

I was lucky not to stumble my way down the walk, and trying to drive with most of my blood below my waist was going to be murder. A quick glance as I got into the Rover showed her still standing on the porch, fingers raised to her lips; expression aroused (although that **may** have been my ego talking) and shocked. I settled into the driver's seat as comfortably as I could, wishing I was settling in between her legs instead. Thoughts like **that** are gonna make getting to sleep tonight tough as hell, I reminded myself; starting the engine.

But, _**fuck**_; the girl sure could kiss.


	12. Twelve

**A/N: ** No, no smut yet. Jeez, people……

--xxx—

One thing was for sure, the boy could certainly kiss.

Blushing at the direction my thoughts were headed (again, this was getting ridiculous), I dropped my gaze to my book and hoped (in vain, I could see his smirk from here) that he hadn't seen me staring across the courtyard at him.

It just wasn't fair. I'd spent the whole weekend trying to forget what his lips (his body, his hands) had felt like and only ended up spending all my time imaging what it'd be like to do more than kiss him. That box of pictures had come out from under the bed before I'd even gotten undressed (I was so weak) from my 'date', leading me to imagine what it'd be like to have _**him**_ unclasp my bra, to have _**him**_ sliding open the zipper of my slacks, to have _**his**_ fingers where mine were traveling ….. I surged to my feet as the first bell jolted me from my reminiscence, scattering my books over the pavement and wishing I'd been strong-willed enough to call in sick today. The pathetic part of me, however, had once again proven victorious and so here I was, picking up my school materials and pretending not to have noticed him.

''Here.'' Ryan was holding the last of my books out to me, smiling that teasing little grin of his as he crouched down near my still-blushing self. There was a look of devilish confidence on his face that made me want to smack him and a glimmer of uncertainty in his eyes that made me want to hold him.

Mostly, I just wanted to kiss him.

''Thank you.'' I practically snatched the book from him and ran (no other word for it) counting myself lucky that I didn't have to face him again until the last class of the day.

Maybe, by then, I'd be able to talk to him without wondering what he'd look like naked.

--xxx—

I was still imagining him naked.

I bit my lip as he walked into class, wishing I had the strength to lower my gaze ……to the counter! I wanted to lower my gaze to the **counter**, not to eye him up like half the room was doing!

Oh my God, I was becoming my mother.

Thinking of Veronica unsettled me, as always; enabling me to tear my eyes away from his (magnificent, mouth-watering) form and focus my attention on the (embarrassingly upside down) book in front of me. I don't **want** to be like her, I reminded myself; I don't **want **to start working my way through the male population of Newport, choosing 'friends' based on what their influence and power could do for me or what their bodies could do **to** me. I really, _**really **_didn't; which meant I had to draw the line for this …..I suppose it was on its way to being a friendship …..here and now.

Which would be easier if I could manage to **look** at him without my mind going off on these dirty little tangents that usually involved him continuing that kiss on down my neck until he……

Stop it.

''Hey.'' Mon Dieu, his voice should be a controlled substance. Seriously, did he have any _idea _of the effect that low and husky tone **had **on people? No, he couldn't possibly, he wasn't clever enough to be doing this to me on **purpose.** I put my fingers to my temple, steeling myself to meet his (gorgeous, soul-piercing) blue eyes.

''Hello, Ryan.'' Concern was heavy in his expression, I think he was worried I was upset about what he'd done (Jesu, what he'd **done**) Friday night. A shiver went through me (leaving me hot and aching) at the memory of his hands on my shoulders, his mouth on mine, his chest firm …… He was smirking at me and I realized I'd moved my fingertips across my cheek to my lips, remembering how it felt to have him kissing me so intently. I yanked my hand down, glaring at him. ''That can never happen again.'' That statement would probably have been more convincing if I wasn't still flushed from my reminiscences.

''Okay.'' He shrugged, seeming unconcerned by my ultimatum. What?

''Okay?'' I narrowed my gaze, suspicious of his ready agreement and, honestly?, a little hurt by how easily he just …..gave up.

''Next move's yours.'' Ryan smiled, that devilishly teasing smile he'd had when he'd asked why I'd kissed him back; something I was still trying to figure out. I swallowed a whimper as he leaned forward, lowering his voice to an even **more** sultry level; eyes locked on mine. Across the counter, he was distracting. Leaning towards me, he made me struggle against the urge to spend the rest of class sitting in (straddling) his lap. ''I won't have to wait long.'' Smug, smug; he was so darned **smug**.

I was just opening my mouth put him in his place (naked and under me – cut it out) when Miss Harrison came over, making me jump when she set an empty box on our counter.

''Congratulations! You two have top marks for the cooking portion of this class.'' Well, that was a relief. Not entirely unexpected, either; what with his practical experience and my adherence to safety measures and attention to detail. ''Just pack up the dry goods to distribute around the rest of the class and inventory the equipment so it can be stored.'' She placed a clipboard next to the box, smiling at us proudly. ''You're free to treat this as a study hall until after winter break.'' I nodded, pulling the clipboard towards me and ignoring (trying to ignore) the way he was staring at me.

The way he'd always stared at me; I'd realized **that** over the long weekend's (failed) struggle with my baser urges.

Would it be so bad? I asked myself as we counted the plates, noted the location of the pans, and locked the cabinets. Giving in to this temptation might actually make it easier to live with, and it wasn't like getting involved with Ryan would be **permanent**. Whatever their reasons for breaking up, I was sure he'd be going to back to Marissa eventually. He wouldn't be able to help it, she was _Marissa Cooper_. I'd be an idiot to try and compete with _**her**_, it was bad enough that I was (someday, when rebounding was over) going to have to compete with the memory of the second most beautiful girl in school: Summer Roberts.

''So, the winter dance.'' He was smirking again, exuding the confidence (animal magnetism) that I wished his brother possessed. I wouldn't be contemplating the pros (gathering intelligence, gaining experience) and cons (most of the girls at school plotting my demise – not that** that** was anything new) of 'hooking up' with the blonde boy if Seth was a tad more self-assured. ''Do you and Seth have your tickets?'' My part of setting up this dance was the catering, so I had no idea how the ticket sales were going. For all I knew, the social committee (and their dates) would be the only ones in attendance.

''Yeah.'' Something put a disgruntled tone in his voice, making me sigh at the nonsense of boys. He didn't really expect **me **to ask **him**, did he? That wasn't how things worked. I raised my eyebrows at him expectantly, waiting for him to catch on. I'd have to re-evaluate my estimation of his intelligence, because he instantly understood what my expression was hinting at. ''Would you like to go with me? Seth's taking Alex, so we could…..''

''Excuse me?'' For a minute there, I'd thought he'd said that the other boy was taking **Alex**. As in, the girl who'd been **so** helpful; encouraging me to give Seth time and space to recover from Summer. That _**slut**_. ''What did you say?"

''The dance?'' He had a really desperate look on his face, but I was too angry with the way I'd been played by that, that …_.bartender_ …..to worry about his ego. Although, truthfully; there was no reason to take her manipulation out on him. ''Going together?''

''I don't think that's a good idea.'' Confusion and shock were heavy in his face, something dark below the surface of his eyes. Reason, reason; I need to find a **reason **for turning him down (that didn't involve Seth), before he got all sulky about it. ''I wouldn't want to interfere with you getting back together with Marissa.'' Something flashed across his expression, but he ducked his head to glare at the counter before I could identify it.

''I'm not …''

Whatever excuses he was about to offer were interrupted by the arrival of our teacher. There was no further opportunity to talk, the rest of our time being taken up by her double-checking our inventory and making note of the supplies we hadn't used. I was actually grateful, not wanting to hear him lie about how he was 'no longer interested' in the Cooper girl. Right. And my life's goal was to be a Thai belly dancer. I wasn't stupid, despite my moronic behavior this past weekend; I knew he was still wrapped around Marissa's little finger. If I wasn't so angry (at myself for being tricked and at Alex for tricking me) and disappointed (that Seth would go for her and not me); I might've spared him some sympathy for being so oblivious to the game (hot and cold) she was playing with him.

I was, most of all; disgusted with myself, allowing a physical attraction (however powerful) to overwhelm my good sense and distract me. Saving Seth from that woman's clutches was going to be difficult, now that she'd had the weekend to sink her claws into him. I couldn't believe I'd fallen for that stupid 'rebound' nonsense. I couldn't believe I'd actually started to consider other (less compatible) options for dating. I couldn't believe Ryan had almost convinced me he **really** thought I was beautiful; when the far more likely explanation was that he just wanted to get laid.

I concentrated on my anger so that my tears remained locked in my throat instead of rolling embarrassingly down my cheeks.

--xxx—

I was an idiot.

I hadn't even made it to the main floor of The Bait Shop before realizing what a total idiot I was.

Following Seth wasn't difficult, especially since his (still somewhat distracting) brother was nowhere around. I would've wondered about that, if I wasn't so intently focused on confronting Alex about her behavior. Wasn't she just a little old to be dating a high school student? Pausing outside to gather myself together, I entered on the upper level and searched for my target.

Oh my God.

My heart went out to the scrawny boy, gaping as he watched (that bitch) the tattooed woman kiss some old (balding) guy. Then she went over and kissed one of the other employees, a girl who looked about her same age. Just as I was about to fly down the stairs and launch myself at her in righteous (how dare she treat him like this?) fury, I heard fragments of the conversation drifting up. Something about rebounds and not wanting a relationship; more about how much fun they could have getting him over his ex-girlfriend. I backed towards the door; glad I'd had to wait until my eyes adjusted to the dim interior. It was the only reason I hadn't made a complete fool of myself.

Forget being an idiot, my recent behavior showed that I was just a terrible person.

Misjudging Alex was bad enough, but dismissing Ryan the way I had …… I wouldn't be surprised if he never spoke to me again and I was sure that the days of him staring to intensely at me were now over. That thought, oddly enough, hurt more than the idea of Seth bringing his new 'hook-up' to the winter dance had. Much as I didn't want to place myself between Marissa Cooper and one of her on-again, off-again boy-toys; I **really **didn't want my partner to think I was (didn't want to **be**) the bitch I'd likely come off as. At the very least, I owed him an apology for my abrupt (no doubt confusing) behavior.

I just hoped it wasn't too late to fix things.

--xxx--

**A/N2: **review and keep me going!


	13. Thirteen

**A/N: ** Sorry, not an update. Wasn't happy w/the chapter and had to tweak it a bit. Don't worry, nothing major was changed, just the phrasing I used. .

--xxx—

Things were a mess, and I didn't see any way to fix them.

Zach had cornered me about Seth and Summer, finally catching on to the fact that he was standing between two storm fronts, the collision of which was only going to be more intense the longer they held out. Not that his pride would let him **admit** he didn't stand a chance, but at least he was acknowledging the possibility that he was in over his head and sinking fast. I did my best to soften the eventual blow for the guy, hoping that the two brunettes would get back together before the (much) taller boy got in too deep.

Marissa was making the same mistakes with DJ that she'd made with me: spending time with another 'just friend' guy (it was weird to be on the other side of **tha**t equation), protesting that she wasn't ashamed of being seen with him (when part of her definitely was), and basically using him to piss her mother off (which meant the relationship had a time limit). Despite what my partner had said, though, there was **no way** I was going to try and make anything work with this girl. Whatever interest there had once been, it was gone now; at least from my side of things. It was kind of nice, having her as a friend. Things would be even more relaxed between us (they'd only be awkward if we let them, we'd agreed) if our other friends weren't taking every opportunity to snipe at each other.

Summer appeared to be more concerned with making my brother miserable than with making her new relationship work. I found myself wishing, every time they stopped to talk (mock) each other; that I dared lock them in a small room until their natural chemistry overwhelmed their issues and they ended up either killing each other or having a sex marathon. Speaking of having sex……

Seth was the **only one** of our group that seemed to be happy, babbling all morning long about his 'arrangement' with Alex. She'd apparently offered to help him get over Summer by hanging out (having lots of casual sex) with him. Which didn't mean that she'd be coming to the winter dance or any other kind of normal 'dating' behavior; just that he'd be getting laid.

Asshole.

It was getting increasingly hard not to resent the guy. Not only was he oblivious to the tension at home (something was going on with his parents, something huge); but he kept after me about Taylor until I'd finally snapped that she was going with someone else. The lie sat like a rock in my stomach, but he accepted it. I never thought I'd be grateful for his lack of perception. His mis-placed pity was, however, much easier to take than the humiliation of the **real** reason I'd taken my ex up on her 'as friends' invite.

Taylor.

That she was still interested in Seth was obvious. And a **major** blow to my ego. I'd thought, after that (electric, intoxicating) kiss; that she'd changed her mind, or at the **very** least become open to the idea of being with **me**. From the way she'd been staring at me all day yesterday (like she wanted to jump me in front of the entire student body, an impulse that was mutual), I figured I was golden. I figured things were going great when her face hinted that I should ask her to the dance. I _hated_ dancing, but I thought it was a perfect excuse (not to mention, the food drive was good cause) to get my hands on her and let **her** get her hands on me. Something I thought she was looking forward to as much as I as. I must've read her totally wrong, though; because she absolutely flipped out when she discovered that Alex had hooked up with my brother.

I couldn't believe I'd actually started to hope. I couldn't believe I actually thought it was possible that she'd look beyond who I appeared to be to see who I was.

Most of all, I couldn't believe that Seth was turning out to be some kind of Casanova, while I was practically engaged to my right hand.

--xxx—

''Hello, Ryan.''

''Taylor.''

I wanted to talk to her and I didn't. I wanted to talk to her because it was the only way to change her mind and I didn't because I had the sinking feeling that she hadn't. She sounded sad, but that only meant that she'd probably trailed Seth to work yesterday and gotten an ear or eye full of his 'arrangement' with Alex. Which meant, obviously, that I was back in play. Provided I wasn't too proud to take second place to my brother, that is. Looking at the auburn beauty across from me; I remembered how she'd pressed herself against me, the way she'd moaned around my tongue: the taste and feel of kissing Taylor Townsend.

Great. Now I'd have to swing my satchel around in front of me to hide me reaction to **that** memory. And riding my bike home was going to be a stone bitch if I couldn't get control of myself in the next hour.

It appeared that, no, I **wasn't** that proud.

''Look, I owe you an apology for my unconscionably rude behavior yesterday.'' I swallowed a suggestion (on her knees, opening my pants) of how she could make it up to me, feeling my face settle into stone to hide the reaction. ''I'm sorry I freaked out; it's just…….'' It's just that you're lusting after Seth, I finished for her mentally; closing my eyes to keep her from spotting the surge of anger that shot through me. I didn't cut her off, though, because I was mildly curious to see if she'd admit to it. ''I don't have a lot of experience with boys asking me out, and with how well the last date you asked me on went, well……'' You had to be kidding me.

''You've gotta be kidding me.'' My eyes snapped open, almost laughing with the strength of my disbelief. Not that I thought she was lying to me (except about being interested in Seth), just that I was finding it hard to believe my fellow students were _that _**fucking **_**blind**_. Not all of them were morons, after all; or stoners and borderline alcoholics. Someone, at some point, **had** to have noticed what a hot piece of ass (to put it in Chino) she was.

''I thought you agreed it wasn't a good night, you looked pretty bored.'' Taylor brushed her bangs out of her face, huffing at me when I grinned. I couldn't help it, the revelation that she'd noticed me at all in her Seth-obsessed haze meant that my planned seduction might just work and that was one hell of a load off my mind. ''It just seemed like you weren't having any fun….''

''Oh, I had **fun**.'' I licked my lips and she blushed, dropping her hazel eyes to stare at the fingers she was nervously twisting together. Pulling her across the counter to have my way with her probably wouldn't go over too well with Miss Harrison, so I kept talking. ''No, I mean: no one's ever asked you out before?''

''Well, of course not. I'm not what you'd call 'beautiful', so you really shouldn't be surprised that I haven't had that much experience with dating.'' She stopped talking, tilting her head at my frown. ''What?''

''You're beautiful.'' I said it the same way I had that night, letting my gaze travel down to her lips and resisting the urge to just kiss her until she stopped thinking. I liked when she stopped thinking, becoming all whimpering and warm in my arms. I wondered if it would always take two kisses to get her to that point, or if it would take less (now that she'd had a taste) or if she'd build up an immunity. Fuck, I really wanted check and see; right now, too. Something of that desire must've been visible on my face, because she blushed again, shifting in her seat as she looked away.

''Thank you.'' Obviously, she still had a hard time believing she was attractive. I **tried **not to be happy about that, to ignore the Trey-voice inside me that said so long as she thought **I** was the only one who appreciated her beauty, I'd be the **only** one she let (among other things) kiss her. ''So….uhm….the dance?'' Her face didn't light up with delighted hope; not like it had when I'd asked her out for **Seth**. That she wasn't as excited about going out with **me **was actually a good thing, given the way things stood.

''We're all going as friends, now. Me, Seth, Marissa; probably Summer and Zach.'' I wasn't entirely sure Zach and Summer would be **joining** our group, but I figured throwing them in there made it less likely that she'd think I was trying to get back with Marissa.

''Not Alex?'' So much for her noticing (or caring, apparently) whether or not** I** was dating someone else. The mystery of Seth's charm strikes again, I thought sarcastically.

''No, she's working that night.'' It came out harsher than I intended, because I really didn't want to be discussing my brother's sex-life. I would rather have been discussing **her** sex-life, and how I could become part of it. .

''Oh. Well, that's too bad.'' I could practically see the wheels turning in her head and wished I hadn't convinced Seth that he 'owed me' for the group hang thing. At the time, I'd just wanted to avoid giving my ex-girlfriend (and everyone else) the wrong idea about who I showed up to the dance with. Now I had a problem, because I did **not** want to spend another evening watching Taylor throw herself at my brother; but there just wasn't **time** to persuade Marissa to go with him so that I'd be free to escort my Home Ec partner. 'So, I'll meet you all there?''

I gritted my teeth at the return of (and the reason for) her enthusiasm, nodding agreement.

So she'd be there to pursue Seth, so what? All I needed was one dance, one minute (maybe two) with our bodies pressed together; and she'd forget all about that plastic-horse-loving, self-absorbed, anime _**geek**_.

And if that didn't work, I'd just kiss her again.

--xxx—

Seth knew something was up. It wasn't hard, I'd been practically snarling at him ever since we left school. It was just that every time I looked at him, my mind would play back how happy Taylor seemed to be at the idea of spending time with him…..and I forgot all the reasons I loved my brother and just wanted to pummel him, thereby fulfilling the 'fisticuffs' tradition of my attending a Newport party.

''We should tell the 'rents we're leaving.'' He sounded hesitant, and I took a deep breath; reminding myself that the fucked-up mess tonight was going to be wasn't **his** fault.

''I got it.'' I smirked at him, motioning to his hair. That was all it took, he immediately started squinting into the glass on the front doors, trying to adjust his 'Jewfro'.

Sandy and Kirsten were on the patio, enjoying their after-dinner drinks, so I cut through the kitchen to let them know Seth and I were taking off. Their voices carried through the open window over the sink, my steps slowed as I realized that I could hear what they were saying. At first, I was just wanting to find a point in the conversation where my (deliberately noisy) approach wouldn't interrupt them. It had been beaten into me at an early age: never interrupt an adult who was speaking, even if they weren't speaking to me.

Then **what** they were saying sunk in and I froze in horror.

''….why did he have to come back to Newport? Things were so much better when he wasn't around.'' Kirsten. I'd known (hesitant looks, doubtful glances) that she blamed me for Seth having run away this summer; but **this** ….this was far harsher than anything she'd ever said to my _face_. Harsher even then when she'd persuaded her husband to throw me out following the aftermath of the fucking fashion show.

''I don't know and I don't care.'' I'd suspected that maybe Sandy was losing interest in his 'charity case'; but to hear him so bluntly **admit** it was like a physical blow. ''I stood between him and the law once, never again.'' I took a step back, my eyes stinging and throat locking. Oh, shit. ''One toe out of line, and my friends in the D.A.'s office will see to it that he goes down for the rest of his life.'' I nearly collapsed, feeling the room spinning wildly around me, putting one hand on the stove to stay upright. I lost a few minutes of the discussion, blood pounding in my ears as I gasped quietly for breath; struggling for control.

''…..just worried about the effect on Seth. What's he going to do when all of this comes out?'' So they were worried that they'd lose their son's affection. Well, that certainly explained why they were **waiting** for me to fuck up, instead of just dumping me with Child Services.

Well, hate to disappoint; but they were gonna have a long fucking wait. I could keep my nose clean for the next two years (eighteen months, whatever); I just had to remember not to let Seth talk me into any more of his 'fun' plans. And now that I was no longer dating Newport's drama queen, it would be even easier to stay out of trouble.

''He'll get over it. He's a good kid.''

I didn't wait to hear the comparison to the kid who **wasn't** good, staggering back into the living room. Pausing, I made sure I was breathing normally, checked my face for moisture, and slapped on a contented expression. Per usual, my brother didn't even notice; too excited about seeing Alex (about having sex), after the dance.

I let his babbling about it being 'his night' wash over me, calming my nerves by sheer force of will.

Frustration boiled under my skin, but I forced it back. All I could do was what I was doing; keep walking the straight and narrow until I turned eighteen. Then I'd be out of here, and everyone would be happy. Cal especially would be ecstatic. Work my ass off, get some money (get a job next summer, construction paid well) and find a school somewhere far away. Wasn't going to give up on my bright new future without a fight, that was for sure. Disappointment roiled my stomach, harder to suppress than the other emotion because I'd placed **so much** trust and faith in the Cohens, believed so readily their assurances that I was a part of their family.

It looked like they'd changed their mind.

Adjusting to this was going to be hell, but I'd adjusted to worse. I just had to make the shift, that was all. Just like I'd made the shift when Frank and Trey had gone to jail, when Dawn had left, like I'd adjusted after Theresa, Marissa; every other time someone had let me down.

I was looking forward to seeing Taylor more than ever, now. At least I knew **exactly** where I stood with _**her**_. She wanted me for my body, to get closer to Seth, or maybe just not to feel so fucking _lonely_ all the time. Whichever, at least I understood her motivations, unlike those of the Cohens (stop thinking about it). I was more determined than ever to get with the girl, to convince her to be with me. Once she was, I knew I'd have someone dependable, someone I could count on; in my life. I'd seen that side of her with how she stood up to Cal, and I wanted **that** girl on **my** side. I desperately needed someone on **my** side. Even if her loyalty was just that of a fuck-buddy; I'd still take it. I **had** to have something solid, **something** reliable. Everything was slipping away from me, like I was finally waking up from the dream this life had been.

I wanted something concrete, something that wouldn't go away, something that was mine and mine alone.

Something with no other purpose but that I _**wanted**_ it.

Tonight, one way or the other; was going to be **my** night as well as Seth's.


	14. Fourteen

**A/N: ** Thanks to Lori for her help with this chapter. Couldn't have done it without you!

Also dedicated to Waltzy, who's having a suck time at school. Hope this cheers you up.

--xxx—

This was going to be my night.

My night to be the belle of the ball, like Summer. My night to have the boys drooling after me, like Marissa. My night to get out there and have fun for once, like every other normal teenage girl.

Of course, that hadn't worked out so well the last time I'd tried…..

Okay, no thinking of last year's (thankfully unnoticed by everyone) fiasco. Positive thoughts, and positive thoughts **only**.

So what if Ryan was getting back together with Marissa? He'd still invited me, and he still looked at me with that (somewhat dangerous and definitely exciting) gleam in his eyes. So what if Seth was with Alex? I could still talk to him, couldn't I? Maybe he'd be off the subject of his ex and we could converse on the wonders of anime. No matter **why** all of us were going (rebounding, reconnecting, renewing); it didn't mean that I couldn't dance with the Cohen boys (and anyone else who asked me), and it most **certainly** didn't mean that I couldn't have a wonderful time and make tons of new friends and show Newport's Little Princess how it felt to be on the outside looking in.

And while I was at it, I'd wish for a nicer mother.

Oh, and world peace. That would be nice.

Trying not to sigh, I smoothed the fabric of my new, vibrant blue dress (ignoring the fact that it was the same shade as _**his **_eyes) over my stomach one last time and headed out. If I couldn't psych myself into having **real** confidence (in my appearance, in the sincerity of my Home Ec partner's invite), then I'd have to do what I always did in these situations.

Fake it.

--xxx--

Best laid plans of mice, men, and Taylor Townsend, I mused to myself; never go as planned. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, letting the bubbles of the Jacuzzi bleed the tension out of me. Maybe the water would wash away the memory of this night, the humiliation of watching Marissa, yet again, take what I wanted without half trying. To be fair, though; she didn't **know** I'd wanted it, this time. This time, even **I** hadn't known I'd wanted it. Him. Whatever. It was only on my way to the dance that I'd admitted that I wanted Ryan (his unexpected wit, his animal presence) instead of Seth (nothing I couldn't get from online anime forums). It wasn't anything _major_ that triggered the realization, just that I'd been daydreaming about who I'd be dancing with (imagining the envious looks from the crowd as we twirled about the floor); and it was the blonde boy, not the brunette, who was featured in the fantasy. I'd been ecstatic about my revelation, practically flying up the steps to Harbor's ballroom in my eager anticipation.

Where I'd seen him slipping away with his former (perhaps once more current?) girlfriend.

And, when I'd sought out his brother in the hopes he could tell me I'd misunderstood the situation……

I stood up, hitting the switch to shut the hot tub's cycle down and pulling the drain for the water. There was a sour feeling in my stomach when I remembered the way Summer had been clinging to her ex-boyfriend. _Nothing_ to the tight sensation in my chest when I recalled who I'd last seen Ryan with; but I didn't want to think about **that** and undo all the benefits of my relaxing soak. Poor Zach. I felt kind of sorry for him; caught between two people who were meant to be, but were just stubborn enough to do some real, emotional damage (to him, to Alex) while they were in denial about it.

I patted myself dry with a towel, wrapping it around me as I went into my bedroom.

Where Ryan Atwood was in the doorway leading out into the hall, leaning against the door jamb.

''What are you doing here?'' I clutched the edge of the towel in one hand, making sure that I was decently covered. I was, but that didn't stop the blush from traveling up my neck to cover my face and down under the white cotton to heat the rest of me. Of course, that may have been due to the way he was **staring**. ''How did you get in?'' Olivia had the weekend off, so that wasn't it.

''You need to find a better hiding place for the spare key.'' I nodded, wishing he'd stop **staring** at me like that. It made it really hard to concentrate on throwing him out; why wasn't I throwing him out? ''Little late to be getting ready for the dance.'' Ryan nodded towards the towel I was clutching in a death grip.

''I'm not getting ready for the dance.'' I was about to mention that I'd already **been**, when I remembered why it was that I'd left. Snatching my robe off the bed with my free hand, I went into my closet (making sure he wasn't peeking in) to put it on. ''I decided it was a waste of my time to attend, although I did make a sizable donation to the charity it's meant to benefit.'' Tightening the belt as I came out, I wanted to dart back in and see if I could find a coverall or a parka or sweatpants or something. The silk kimono-style robe was stylish, and always made me feel better about my looks with its sensual feel; but he was staring so intently, his eyes like twin azure flames….. I felt exposed, even if I **had** purchased the floor-length rather than the mid-thigh model.

''That's a nice dress for 'a waste of your time'.'' He flicked his gaze towards the back of my closet door, where I'd hung the dress I'd bought for tonight's event. Strapless, with a full skirt; the small bow for the slim (only slightly darker) sash was off-center; lending a new twist to the classic cut. ''I would've like the chance to see you in it.'' He **did** sound disappointed, and maybe it wasn't just because the bosom of the dress didn't show any cleavage. Maybe he'd actually been looking forward to seeing me.

I snorted: at my own thoughts as well as his words.

''Like you would've noticed **anything** following Princess Mononoke around like a lap-dog.'' The thought of where he'd probably left his jacket and tie sickened me, and I crossed my arms over my chest defensively; looking away so he wouldn't see the hurt in my eyes.

''I've got to see that anime.'' At least, I **think** that's what he muttered. Taking a chance, I turned my gaze back to him and pointed one hand at the door.

''That's a good idea. Why don't you go do that?'' He moved, but to step closer to me; making my heart pound wildly. In fear, I told myself; maybe even rage. ''Go! Go away!'' Now I was stamping my foot like a five-year-old, so frustrated was I with the whole messed-up situation. ''Go back to your perfect little princess!''

''Marissa isn't perfect.'' Ryan stepped within arms reach and I told myself to back away, to get some distance. Instructions my legs ignored entirely, holding me in place as he continued his excuses. ''And she's not **my** anything.''

''Not yet.'' Shaking my head at his stubbornness, there was a dead, resigned note to my voice. I'd never stood a chance, and I was tired of pretending that I had. ''You two are one of 'those couples'; like Seth and Summer. I'm not going to get in the middle of that.'' He flinched from my honesty, glaring at me like it was **my** fault he refused to accept reality.

''Why would I come **here** if I was still interested in _her_?'' His face was set, like he was prepared to wait all night for my answer.

'You think I don't know?'' It was a bit much: him expecting me to be that ignorant. I wasn't as naïve as he assumed; I knew he wasn't here to advise me about hiding my spare key or to tell me my dress was nice. ''You're here to get _laid_, Ryan Atwood; with the added benefit that doing me will drive your precious Marissa insane with jealousy.''

''You're unbelievable!'' Ryan threw his hands up, turning away to grip at his hair; blowing out a harsh breath of anger and disbelief. Well, I hadn't really thought he'd admit it. ''Is that what you really think?''

''I'm not an idiot, you know.'' His expression was starkly disbelieving, he turned back to me and crossed his arms over his chest expectantly. I couldn't believe him! He was behaving like **I** was the one in the wrong; when all I'd done was try (and fail) to find someone. It wasn't **my** fault everyone I'd chosen was head over heels for someone else. ''You think I'll be easy, because I don't have any friends. Well, I'm not.'' I resisted the urge to sniffle, wishing he'd just go already. Why did he have to stand there, torturing me with his presence? ''I'm **not**. You'll just have to find someone else.''

''No.'' The sheer arrogance made me want to scream, but I managed to keep it to an irritated gasp. ''I could get laid like _that_, if I wanted.'' He snapped his fingers, and I tried not to care that it was true. ''Holly, Jess; pretty much any girl in Newport.'' Hands now lowered to his sides, he stepped even closer to me; close enough to touch, although he didn't. And I didn't **want** him to, I reminded myself. I didn't want to be a substitute, or second-best, or a pity-screw. ''_Including_ Marissa; dating someone new or not.'' She was dating someone new? Then why had he been with her at the dance? Could he be………?

No. I refused to get my hopes up again. It was time to let loose the bitch Veronica had raised me to be.

''Someone thinks well of themselves.'' He smirked, and I completely lost my temper. It was so cruel of him to stand there and rub my face in the fact that everyone wanted **him**; and not _one person_ wanted **me**. ''Go on, then!'' I shoved at him; his chest like steel under my palms, his face startled and (I was even more annoyed to note) mildly amused. ''Go! Find some bobble-headed bimbo to screw!'' I shoved again, moisture gathering in my eyes, my throat closing up. Why was he **doing** this to me? Had Marissa sold him on the wonders of tormenting me, or was he just too **stupid** to realize how mean he was being? ''Go on! Why bother chasing me?! Why **me**, when……?!''

I went to shove him again, and he stepped forward, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and trapping me against his solid frame. Too startled to struggle, I gazed in shock up at his face, his eyes piercing mine with a heated desire.

''Because **you're** the only one worth having.'' He practically growled it at me, his voice thick and low.

And then he was _**kissing**_ me, kissing me like these were his last moments on Earth, like he **needed** this, like he needed **me**.

Not that he was alone in what was flaring between us. I returned his kiss with equal fervor, my hands tangled in his hair before I even realized that I'd moved. It felt _**amazing**_. I didn't care that I'd been dead set against this happening, not even five minutes ago. I could tell that he meant what he'd said: he only wanted **me**, no one else. For the first time in my life, someone was putting me first, someone was choosing **me** over better girls, prettier girls. The back of my legs touched the bed, and I tried not to stiffen. Ryan's hands felt wonderful, caressing my back (and backside) through the silk of my robe. I was willing to chance that the sex would be just as pleasant, instead of the somewhat boring athletic exercise I'd previously experienced.** I** was willing, but my Home Ec partner had paused when I'd tensed up.

''Have you done this before?'' He tried to make it sound casual, trailing his lips down my neck as he asked. Unfair, because the distraction of his lips on my skin (my mouth on his neck) made me honest instead of romantic.

''Once or twice.'' I frowned at the memories, shoving them aside to concentrate on how **good** his body felt, pressed firmly to mine. ''I don't think I was very good at it.'' His chuckling was inappropriate, I thought. Weren't you supposed to _avoid_ laughter in these types of situations?

''Not possible.'' He smiled at me, tapped my nose with one finger. I scrunched it at him and he smiled even wider, the tone of the expression changing as he took in my flushed face, my heaving chest, my slightly swollen lips. Locking eyes with me, he undid the knot in the belt of my robe, opening the fabric to expose my body to his gaze. I lowered my arms, letting the silk slip down to pool near my feet. Ryan licked his lips, hand shaking a little as he raised it to touch the curve of one breast.

''Oh God.'' The sensation was burning, torturous, and imminently pleasurable. His fingers traveled with agonizing slowness across my chest, tracing random patterns on my skin. Possessed of a wild impatience, I grabbed the front of his shirt and crashed my lips to his once more.

The way he groaned was satisfying on several levels. Not only did it tell me I wasn't the only enjoying themselves, but the vibrations from it felt really good, traveling from his throat and down mine. Someone had shrunk the buttons on his shirt, because I couldn't get a single one undone. We weren't going to get anywhere if I was incapable of getting his shirt off. Taking a firm grip to either side, I yanked with all my strength. There was the expected patter of buttons, and the startling sound of tearing fabric.

Oh.

He was wearing (or had been) an undershirt.

''Fuck.'' Ryan yanked the remnants of his shirts out of his pants, tossing them aside with at least as much impatience as I was feeling. At least, I think it was impatience. He may have just been annoyed that I'd ruined his shirts. I mean, he was digging into his pocket instead of working on his belt; so he couldn't be all that eager to…….

Oh.

Well, it appeared to be my night for jumping to the wrong conclusions. I'd thought he was getting back with Marissa, that I was nothing more than a warm body to him, and now I misjudged his reaching for a condom (looked like that common gossip was true, about boys carrying them in their wallets) as a waning interest in our activities.

Resolving to try and stop analyzing his every move and just 'go with it', I went to work on his pants, daringly pressing a kiss to the hollow of his throat. He cursed again, grabbing me by the upper arms and shoving me back so that I fell onto my bed. From the way he was scrambling out of his remaining garments, I knew the move had been more from a desire to spare his slacks my impatience than irritation with my actions.

**His** actions, and his marvelous physique, were making my stomach swirl with heat. It was a good thing I was laying down (propped up on my elbows), because I got **very** light-headed when I took in the full measure of his naked form. Mon Dieu, that was something Greek sculptors could **never** do justice to. Michelangelo might have managed it, were he allowed the artistic freedom to do the model justice. I reached out for it, wanting to see if it was really **real**, or just my hormone-driven imagination.

Ryan chuckled again, shaking his head and taking my hand in his as he crawled up onto the mattress to lie next to me. I tried to roll into him, eager to have our bodies pressed against each other, eager to experience what sex with him would be like. His lips met mine, pushing me back so that I was lying in the curve of his left arm: his right hand roaming over my skin, his left cradling my head as he plundered my mouth with his tongue. Whimpering, I buried the fingers of my right hand in his hair (the only part of him I could reach with that hand) and pulled insistently at his shoulder with my left. While the parts that were in contact with his body burned and tingled with new, wondrously erotic sensations; the rest of me was aching and cold by comparison. I wanted him to wrap me in the feel of his skin, to conquer my insecurities with his carnal skill.

His wandering hand crossed my thigh, fingertips whisper-soft against the bundle of nerves between my legs. I gasped, arching, as he explored the area with an unexpectedly (given his reputation) gentle and tender touch.

Then he slid a finger slowly within me……...

……….and I stopped thinking entirely.

--xxx—

**A/N 2**: Yes, I'm leaving it there. Pick it up nearly the same instant, next chapter; so no death-threats, okay?


	15. Fifteen

**A/N: ** Thanks to Lori, who was fantastic with timely advice, as well as helpful wardrobe hints.

And to Waltzy: I think y'all kin guess which scene she let me steal.

--xxx—

I liked that she wasn't thinking.

Smart as she was, it was a serious thrill that I could close her brain down and cause her to make that mewling noise (half-whimper, half-moan) with just a twitch of my thumb. I curled the finger inside her, stroking gently in and out; making her body arch sharply.

Beautiful.

I slid another digit into her folds, burying my face in her collarbone and moaning at the sensation of her clenching and shuddering against my hand. Inhaling the smell of her skin made me groan louder, the aroma intoxicating even without the musky scent wafting up from below her waist. It was heady stuff and made my skin throb with heat, the need to be in her almost overwhelming. First things first, though; I had to get **her** off at least **once** so that I could fuck her with a clear conscience. I'd have to ask her what lotion or perfume or soap she used, though; because it was seriously turning me on.

I think it was the same stuff that made keeping my hands off her during Home Ec such a pain in the ass.

Taylor cried out, sharp little nails stinging on my scalp, on my shoulder; as I nipped and sucked at her breasts. The way she bucked and writhed made it difficult to keep from ditching the foreplay, spreading her legs wide, and losing myself in her amazing body. Just because she wasn't a virgin was no reason not to take my time, though. I was just hoping I could hold out long enough to make it good for her. From the way she'd tensed up when we'd reached the bed, that other guy (whoever the hell he was) had obviously not been interested in giving **her **a good time. What a jerk. He must be really lousy in the sack to leave this smoldering little sexpot with the impression that she was a bad lay.

Well, fuck him (figuratively speaking). He wasn't here, **I** was. She wasn't bucking against his hand, or trying to suck his tongue down her throat, or desperately arching in his arms; it was **my** hand, **my **tongue, **my** arms that she was enjoying, mumbling to herself in French, Spanish (and some other language I couldn't identify) in the mindlessness of her pleasure. Pleasure that **I **was giving her, and that was all that mattered, right now.

She cried out again, tugging at my hair to lift my face up towards hers. There was a wild hunger in her hazel eyes as she kissed me with passionate abandon. Her teeth pinched my bottom lip, pulling it into her mouth as she came, arms trembling around my head. Removing my hand from between her legs, I realized I was shaking as well; if for a different reason. She was basking in the afterglow, I was consumed with the desire, the **need** to fuck her even more senseless than she already was. Taking advantage of her limp, relaxed state (a dopey smile on her face I'd would've found amusing, under other circumstances); I pushed myself up into a kneeling position, making a long arm to snag the condom off the nightstand.

Her eyes locked on my face when I put my hands on her knees, she spread her legs for me with every sign of eager anticipation. Good, because I seriously doubted that I was capable of _stopping_ at this point. Delicate hands guided me in, more enthusiastic than helpful. Somehow, I managed to get her to release me without tearing the latex protecting us and slowly (she gasped, hands gripping my forearms so tight I wouldn't be surprised if she left bruises), **slowly** slid into her.

Good, it felt so fucking _**good**_. I couldn't believe how good this felt, how torturous the deliberately slow (to keep control, to keep from hurting her) pace was turning out to be. Hot, so hot; and wet (from the end result of our somewhat brief foreplay) and _**tight**_. She was so goddam tight I briefly feared that I wouldn't be able to enter her completely. I slid a shaking hand under her ass to improve my angle, her sharp cry of pleasure (at the shift of position, I think) my only warning before Taylor bucked her hips upward; the move pulling me the rest of the way inside her.

Next thing I knew, I'd dropped to brace my upper body on my left elbow (keeping a firm grip on that ass with my right hand); thrusting into her like ….

Well, like I hadn't been laid in almost eight months.

I had no idea how long it was before I managed to get control of myself, slowing down so she'd have a _chance_ of getting off before I did. As if she'd heard the thought, the girl under me (whose face was wild with amazed enjoyment) wrapped her arms around my ribs (her legs around my waist); every single muscle in her magnificent body clenching tight as she screamed my name in obvious ecstasy. So much for slowing down, I thought, speeding back up in reaction to the feel of her climaxing under me, against me, all around me.

Kissing her as every nerve ending I had exploded into trembling bliss seemed like the right thing to do. Or maybe I just couldn't resist the temptation of her lips. Whichever it was, the muffled moans and whimpers she made in response to my own lustful grunts and groans were the sweetest sounds I'd heard in months. Breaking off in the desperate need to breathe, I collapsed on top of her; gasping an apology for crushing her with my weight and promising (between gulps of air) to move once the strength flowed back into my arms and legs. I just needed a minute to rest my head on her shoulder, to relax into the moment.

''I guess this means we're dating now?'' Fear shaded the hope in her voice; I levered myself up onto both elbows, watching the doubt crawling over her face. Doubt that, for once, didn't have anything to do with her attractiveness (and her confidence therein) or my behavior (and the possible reasons therefore).''Officially and in public, I mean?'' Her eyes were wide with hopeful pleading and I had the sinking feeling that **this **is what the other guy had done. Fucked her (however badly) and promised to be her 'boyfriend', then bailed when being with her threatened his popularity. ''Ryan?''

''If you want to risk being seen with 'the kid from Chino'.'' I disengaged, rolling away to discard the condom; keeping my head down so she wouldn't misunderstand the anger on my face. ''I've got kind of a rep.'' One that would prove to be far, far short of the truth; should I ever get my hands on the son of a bitch who'd used her to get his rocks off and hadn't even given her an orgasm (I was guessing, from the surprised tone to her climaxing), or even dinner and movie, in appreciation for her allowing his sorry ass between her legs.

''Well-deserved.'' Taylor giggled, trailing a finger over my shoulder. I turned back to her, all thoughts of handing out a well-deserved beating vanishing at the sight of her naked body. Tempted as I was to continue fucking her well into the morning (with her eager cooperation, I could tell from the way she was eyeing me); there were two things stopping me. One was that I couldn't take the risk (given the Cohens new attitude) of even** bending** one of the rules……..

……..and the other was that I'd just used the one and only mother-fucking condom I had on me.

''We should do something tomorrow.'' It was difficult to turn away, but I managed it. Standing, I tried not to rush into my clothes. I had enough time to make it back to the pool house, there was no need to make her think she'd been right, and all that I wanted from her was sex. ''Lunch, maybe?'' Pulling my boxers on quickly wasn't the smoothest move, but it **would** help keep me from being stupid and taking her bareback. ''I could meet you somewhere?'' Other people I could handle, but the reaction of my family (teasing, lectures, re-visiting the Theresa mess) wasn't anything I wanted to deal with. I just wanted to keep it to myself (most of Newport wasn't anyone I gave a rat's ass about); to **enjoy** the relationship before I had to defend it.

''You have to go?'' She was trying hard to sound like she didn't care, but the stiff way she was sitting up, the angle of her head as she dropped her gaze (fiddling with the blankets beneath her): everything about her made me feel like an absolute shit for leaving so quickly. At least I had a good reason for it.

''Curfew.'' I picked up my shirts and frowned at the button-less state of one and the large rip down the front of the other. ''And I **did** kind of leave Seth hanging, at the dance.'' Guilt hit me, but there certainly wasn't anything I could do about it **now**. I just had to hope that Summer would keep the guy from getting thumped, even if she wouldn't admit to still being in love with him. And Alex would give the guy a ride home, if he couldn't get a cab; so I really didn't have anything to feel guilty about **there**.

Hunh. What do you know? I didn't feel bad anymore. Guess that decision (to stop taking the blame for shit that wasn't my fault) was really working.

Either that, or the (unbelievable, life-altering) sex I'd just had was making me seriously mellow the fuck out.

''You left your brother to come see me?'' Rather than irritated at finding out I'd ditched my best friend, she appeared to be flattered that I'd put checking up on **her** (despite what had happened, that **had** been my only intent when I'd 'broken in', using the spare key) ahead of family. I nodded confirmation of my actions, taking advantage of her amazed distraction to try and figure out which shirt was the most wearable. She _tsk_ed at me, standing up and snatching the fabric out of my hands. The under-shirt she pulled over her head; the rip giving me a great view of her cleavage, the hem playing peek-a-boo with the curve of her ass. Wearing the damaged tee, she looked twice as sexy as she did stark naked. Good thing I'd gotten my pants on, it made resisting the urge to fuck her just barely tolerable. As it was, I still ended up considering the risks (and benefits) entailed in doing her again. And again, and again, and…… Great, the sex just made getting her out of my head even more of an impossibility. I foresaw lots of cold showers in my future. ''I can sew the buttons back onto this for you.'' She smiled impishly at me over her shoulder, and I knew she must have (from the teasing sparkle in her eyes) **some** idea what her current outfit was doing to me. '' Maybe I can get extra credit for it.''

''And what am I supposed to wear home?'' Uh-oh. My body had apparently missed the memo about the fun being over for the night, because my voice was low and throaty; my skin tingling as I tried to tell myself that one little kiss couldn't hurt.

Wait, yes it could. There was no telling what shape my pants would end up in if I tried to give the girl a goodnight kiss. Better keep my distance, or I'd end up going home in a towel (but with one hell of a smile – stop it).

''Fortunately for you, I have weird taste in lounging clothes.'' Taylor opened a drawer to her dresser and rummaged around for a minute. She pulled out a white shirt and tossed it to me. ''That _might_ just barely fit.''

It** was** kind of tight, but I'd been wearing snug shirts for weeks.

The sunglasses-wearing dolphins on the front, however, had me pushing the speed limit all the way to the Cohens and hoping to **hell** no one (especially Seth_, please_: anyone but Seth) would see me wearing it.

--xxx—

''I can't believe they kept playing you!'' Taylor laughed, twirling around as we exited the bar. **I** still couldn't believe her **outfit**; still couldn't wrap my head around what she was **wearing**.

A dress.

She'd worn a pale green, wide-straps for the shoulders (she'd said it was called a 'sun-dress') **dress** with a full, knee-length skirt, a silver belt (shaped like a chain of flowers) and low-heeled, green, silver-accented shoes.

To a _**bar**_.

I had to admit, though; it **was** effective. I didn't have a chance to do more than set up the balls while explaining the rules to her (my 'teaching her to play' was supposed to draw in opponents) before guys started coming out of the woodwork to challenge me. Their ulterior motives were obvious as they leered at her (the urge to invite them into the alley for a Chino-style lesson in manners was hard to fight) and made lame-ass puns about my 'stick' skills. Emptying their wallets was a true pleasure; especially the idiot who got her drink (only in Newport would a place like **this** serve _chilled_ white wine) dumped down his pants (literally – she'd pulled on his belt and just……) for sitting next to her (uninvited, after his loss) and putting his hand on her thigh. I nearly broke the cue over his head (before she 'dealt' with it) and then almost busted my gut trying not to laugh **too** hysterically.

''How did you do?'' She was practically dancing across the parking lot, giddy with enthusiasm over our 'date'. Or maybe that was the wine? No, she hadn't had more than one or two glasses. If she was blitzed, she'd be a **lot** more unsteady on her feet; not drifting around like an energetic butterfly. ''Enough money to send to Theresa?''

''Yeah.'' No one was lurking (for either revenge or a mugging opportunity), but I **still** didn't take the risk of pulling out the wads of cash taking up three of my four pockets. Totaling it mentally, I smiled at the amount. ''Little extra, actually.'' That first night's take had set a bi-weekly total for me to aim for, which Paloma was hiding as a 'bonus' from the hospital (for some nurse-thing, I didn't ask), paid out over six months. What she planned on coming up with after that (because I wasn't going to stop just because she'd run out of excuses), I didn't know.

I didn't **care**, either. Tomorrow, when I went to the bank to mail her the certified check, was soon enough to worry about Mrs. Vasquez and her daughter, my former best friend. Right **now**, there was a smoking hottie leaning back against the Rover, hands clasped together in front of her.

''So, I was helpful?'' I nodded ruefully, remembering my objections to her tagging along tonight (mostly involving my not wanting to end up in a bar brawl to defend her); objections that had reached fever pitch when I'd seen what she was **wearing**. Only the knowledge that she'd be crushed (for someone so fine, she didn't have a lot of confidence in her looks – must be some girl thing) if I yelled (or didn't take her with me) kept me from turning what she'd decided was our first 'date' into a shouting match. ''So ….you're grateful.'' It wasn't a question, and the way her hazel eyes were smoldering was very flattering to my ego. I put my palms flat onto the vehicle to either side of her shoulders, trapping her between my body (blood pounding, skin tingling) and the car.

''What do you want, Taylor?'' My voice was throaty and low, reflective of how **difficult** the last few games had been; played with an ever-increasing tightness in my jeans as I watched her charm the bartender (without flirting, which I didn't think possible) and turn down (politely, yet) several offers to dance. I just hoped I wasn't mis-reading her; that the look on her face wasn't due to a weird desire for ice cream or something. I didn't **think** so, but with **this** girl, 'unpredictable' took on whole new meaning.

One thing for sure, she was never going to be **boring**.

''You.'' Or shy, apparently. The way she grabbed the belt loops of my jeans and pulled, searing her body to mine, tilting her face upwards in an obvious demand for a kiss: it was readily apparent that I hadn't mis-read her at **all**.

Kissing Taylor was like tapping into pure energy, like kissing one end of a **very **live wire. Everything ramped up into overdrive; sensations white with intensity. Every inch of my skin was crawling with fiery need, with the electric thrill of having her pinned between me and the side of the Rover. One hand cupped the back of her head, the other fumbling for the handle of the door. I growled against her throat, frustrated that it wouldn't open; her giggle clueing me in to the fact that I'd have to (of **course** - dumbass) _unlock_ it first. Problem was, I didn't think I had the manual dexterity **left** to handle the complexity of key and lock.

The girl took advantage of my momentary distraction to push my shirt up, bunching it near my throat; holding it place as she planted kisses all over my chest.

_**Fuck**_ getting her in the car.

I pulled the front of my tee over my head, hooking the fabric behind my neck. It felt weird; but at least I wouldn't have to replace another shirt, or worry about finding (or shaking the dirt out of) this one afterwards. Crushing my lips to hers, I pressed her more firmly to the vehicle, letting her feel (in the hardness that throbbed and ached, between my legs) how _desperately_ I wanted her. She moaned, letting her head fall back, giving me access to her neck. Pushing aside the straps of her dress, I mouthed my way across her shoulders, nipping gently at her collarbone, the rounded curve where her arms began. Whimpering, she arched into me, lifting one of her legs to press her shin to the back of my thigh.

Taking the move as a green light, I slid my hands down to cup her ass (with the side benefit of pulling her even tighter against me), lifting her skirt higher up with each clenching movement of my fingers. By the time I was tucking it into her belt, she was moaning and scrambling at my jeans and I was harder than I'd ever been in my **life.** Taylor opened my pants, almost yanking the zipper down, sliding her palms beneath my boxers to caress me with an eager, exploring touch. I threw my head back, groaning as she indulged her curiosity, resisting a growing urge to thrust into the sweet softness of her grip. When I couldn't take it anymore, I pulled her hands away from me; feeling the warm wetness of her (we moaned almost in unison) through my boxers as I pinned her to the side of the Rover with a hard, hungry kiss.

I didn't remember retrieving the condom, or applying it; but I must have, because I could feel (barely, but it was there) its constriction when I fingered her panties aside and lifted her up to slide into her warm, welcoming depths. She felt so _**good**_; all hot and tight and soft, trembling against me, unashamedly enjoying what I was doing to her. Knowing someone might come by _at any moment_ kept me from undoing her dress and spilling her breasts out over her bra; but it also heightened the **already** mind-blowing thrill of sex with this girl. I braced my left forearm against the car, under her shoulder; and took a good grip on her thigh (right where it curved into her ass) with the opposing hand. She wrapped her legs (moaning and shuddering and already halfway there) around my hips, her arms pulling my head into her neck. Her warm breath tickled my ear as she chanted my name (between gasping calls on God) and pleaded with me to **move**.

So I did.

Hard and fast and with groaning pants of **her **name, trailing my lips over her jaw; feeling her teeth tugging gently at my earlobe as I built our pleasure with each increasingly forceful thrust. I stopped caring about what would happen if we were spotted; I even stopped wondering what **else** Taylor might be willing to try, since she was freak enough to go for up-against-an-SUV-in-a-bar-parking-lot. All I could think of was how amazing this felt, how I wanted it to last all night as well as how desperately I needed to get her off so that I could release the staggering climax I felt gathering below my waist.

--xxx—

''Dude, you ready to b and b?'' I frowned at my brother over my coffee, wishing (not for the first time) that he came with subtitles, or an on-call translator. Fortunately, while he was sometimes (often) incomprehensible; he usually just kept chattering until he got his point across. For instance: ''Bike and 'board? The 'rents took the cars, so we should leave now if we want to make it to school on time.''

''Taylor's picking us up.'' I really should've found a way to tell him before now, but I'd gotten in just minutes before curfew on Saturday, and taken off for the Townsend residence right after breakfast yesterday, staggering back to the pool house with barely enough time to shower and sleep. There honestly hadn't been **time** for Seth/Ryan time.

''Sounds like your study-date went well.'' There it was, the 'why didn't you share this with me?' tone; the kicked-puppy expression I'd been dreading. As much as I wanted to say that I hadn't told him about me and Taylor reaching the next level because I hadn't had the chance, or that I wanted to enjoy myself without answering his endless questions; the truth was, I'd just forgot. Spending ten hours using her copy of the Kama Sutra to work our way through an _entire box_ of condoms (and most of the food in the kitchen) instead of the homework I'd supposedly come over to do was fun, but exhausting. And it didn't exactly leave me in the mood (or condition) to talk. I'd had to drive home with the windows down and the radio blaring the most annoying music I could find; just to stay awake long enough to make it back without wrecking the car. As it was, I didn't remember face-planting into my mattress, and had the uncomfortable feeling that came from falling asleep with my clothes on. Thankfully, I'd had enough sense left to empty my pockets (if not remove my boots), so I didn't have the imprint of keys and loose change on my hip. ''So, you and Taylor? I guess it really** is** a new era.''

''Yeah.'' I wasn't all that worried about them spending time together anymore. Now that I was dating her, Seth was **far** less likely to show an interest; and she wouldn't go back to her crush on **him** if he didn't give her anything (attention, friendship) to hang her affection on.

That, and having experienced her sex drive (nearly as rabid and kinked-out as my own); I knew there was _no way in __**hell**_ my brother would **ever** be able to keep up with her and live to tell the tale.

''You and Taylor.'' He shook his head, and I wondered what he thought was wrong with her. Or maybe it was the me **and**her part of it he couldn't understand. Hell, I didn't really get it myself. Not that I was about to ask her **why** she was with me, I wasn't _**stupid**_. Taylor would probably take such a question as a sign we were breaking up, and that meant she'd stop letting me do nasty dirty things to her. And I **needed** to keep doing those things to her (things she obviously enjoyed); especially since she'd started doing things **back**. ''Marissa's gonna go ballistic. We're talking an eardrum-piercing level of shrieking rage.'' For a minute, I thought he was referring to how my ex would react to what had happened this weekend; but then I remembered he couldn't **actually** read my mind and realized he was probably talking about when the blonde girl found out I was dating someone new.

''It's none of her business.'' That didn't, however, mean that I wasn't going to **enjoy **the look on her face when she saw that I was moving on. I wasn't above a little gloating; not after the way she'd acted with Luke and Oliver and DJ. Not after the way she'd **over**-reacted to my previous attempts (Gabrielle, Theresa) to be with someone else. One of those attempts hadn't even been anything more than out-of-control teenage hormones (and one bored ex-model); but try telling Marissa that. At least my new girl might give me a chance to explain (not that I was planning on repeating my past mistakes, but still) before she vilified me. ''It's not anyone's business but ours.'' Yeah, **that** wasn't gonna last past homeroom. The rumor mill would be all over us the minute we stepped out of her car. It was a good thing we had an excuse to bail on Home Ec; we could get at least **one** hour away from the whispers and stares.

Well, from the whispers. Just because the library had enforced quiet didn't mean people wouldn't **stare**.

''You don't really think that's gonna stop anyone, do you?'' I shook my head and he looked relieved that I had a firm grasp of reality. ''Harbor's basically a shark-pit, and you two hooking up is fresh blood in the water.''

''That's really gross, Seth.'' The depressing thing was, he was right. I had the sudden urge to follow Taylor around all day and glare threateningly at anyone who dared speak to her with anything but a civil tone, about anything but school. Then again, given the things she'd let slip about her mother, and the way she took down Cal; maybe I should ask **her** to protect **me **from the preppy little savages.

''Forewarned is forearmed, my friend.'' He opened his mouth, most likely to start with the _really_ annoying questions; only to close it as the door bell echoed throughout the house. ''Ah, saved by the proverbial bell. You ready?''

''Sure.'' Thinking about what awaited me at school, I sighed regretfully; wishing I still smoked so I could enjoy a last drag before facing my peers.

''Good morning!'' The smile when we opened the door was at least as blazing as the sun, and cheerful enough to make me hope she drank decaff. That attitude of hers would be a little much if you added the rush of caffeine to it. Her usual outfit of slacks and dress-blouse looked crisp and professional; her hair a straight line down her back, every strand in place. She looked perfect, like she'd just stepped out of a magazine. I wondered, again, what she was **doing** with a guy with scuffed boots, worn (comfortable) jeans, and a general 'scruffy' (Theresa's term, when she'd been trying to convince me to get my hair cut) appearance. ''Are you both ready?'' She smiled at me, her hazel eyes sultry and deep; and I forgot all my worries about _why_ she was with me and just went with the happy fact that she **was**.

''Funny, I was about to ask you and Ryan the same thing.'' Taylor giggled, motioning us towards her car.

As she drove, Seth continued to make dire predictions about the reaction of our fellow students to the new relationship, and it was beginning to sound less like the warnings of a friend and more like disapproval. Maybe even jealous disapproval? No. Not only was he not the type to steal a girl from someone (especially from me); but he just wasn't subtle enough to hide it, when he was interested. And he **wasn't**.

But the girl driving could be. She was definitely subtle enough to hide an interest in one guy because she was dating another. Dating his brother, actually; which meant she'd get really close: close enough to go after someone she had a lot more in common with than enthusiasm for sex.

Well, there was my 'why'; then.

It was actually a fairly clever idea, in the Newport-bred way of thinking.

Hearing them chattering away like long-lost twins in the front seats (the other's longer legs the excuse for my sitting in the back); I decided I wasn't just going to lie down and take this. I couldn't keep them apart, but I **could** make sure that I was always around when they were together; keep her focused on me by reminding her of the effect I had on her. There was no **way** she could've been faking, not every single time. It just wasn't possible. Her plan was good, but it all hinged on me being dim enough not to catch on, so I'd just let her think I hadn't. That'd give me the chance to turn this back around on **her**. Once I got to know the _clothed_ version of Taylor Townsend, I'd be able to keep her attention with all the things (there had to be **some **things) that we had in common.

Aside from thinking Seth Cohen was a great guy, that is.


End file.
